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FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 

REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 

BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM    TO 

THE   LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON   THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


THE 


POETICAL  WORKS 


OF 


JAMES    MONTGOMERY. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/poetiOOmont 


V  . 


■ 

I 


THE 


$s 


J 


POETICAL    WORKS 


or 


JAMES   MONTGOMERY. 


COLLECTED  BY  HIMSELF. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

LINDSAY    &    BLAKISTON. 
1852. 


OCCASIONAL  NOTICE. 


Two  large  editions  of  these  Collected  Poems  (in  3  vols.  1836,  and  in 
4  vols,  handsomely  embellished,  1841)  having  been  favourably  received 
by  the  Public,  the  Author  is  encouraged  to  offer  the  present,  in  a 
more  condensed  form,  with  the  hope  that  compositions,  which  at 
intervals  through  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century  had  previously 
obtained  considerable  attention,  may  yet  secure  some  measure  of 
similar  indulgence  for  a  few  years  longer.  Further  introduction 
here  would  be  irrelevant,  as  the  notes  and  explanations  attached  to  the 
principal  subjects  will  make  the  special  treatment  of  these  sufficiently 
intelligible,  if  not  otherwise  interesting. 

J.  M. 


The  Mount,  near  Sheffield, 
March  25,  1850. 


GENERAL  PREFACE." 


On  the  appearance  of  a  new  edition  of  these 
collected  works,  at  so  late  a  period  of  his  long 
and  desultory  course,  the  Author  feels  himself 
justified  in  giving  more  publicity  than  would 
formerly  have  been  expedient  to  some  of  those 
peculiar  circumstances,  which,  having  governed 
his  choice  of  subjects,  and  influenced  his  man- 
ner of  handling  them  in  his  earlier  composi- 
tions, have  continued  more  or  less  to  determine 
the  character  and  tone  of  the  whole. 

The  small  pieces,  accompanying  "  The  Wan- 
derer of  Switzerland,"  in  the  first  volume, 
which  gained  for  him  a  name,  however  humble, 
among  his  poetical  contemporaries,  were  almost 
exclusively  personal ; — reveries,  reminiscences, 
and  anticipations,  referring  to  blighted  hopes, 
existing  troubles,  and  fearful  forebodings  of 
evils  to  come.  Of  this  singularity  he  was  so 
little  conscious  at  the  time,  that,  when  first 
pointed  out  to  him,  the  discovery  alarmed  the 
morbid  egotism  which  had  betrayed  him  into 
it,  quite  as  much  as  the  offence  itself,  if  it  were 
one,  shocked  the  modesty,  and  provoked  the 
scorn,  of  critics  in  the  highest  place.  Without 
pretending  to  vindicate  this  or  any  other  indis- 
cretion into  which  he  may  have  been  misled 
by  that  self-love  which  is  self-ignorance,  or 
that  ignorance  of  the  world  which  is  not  the 
greatest  crime  in  it,  especially  when  found  in 
a  young  man, —  he  must  now,  at  an  advanced 
age,  hazard  the  charge  of  committing  a  more 
aggravated  offence  of  the  same  kind  (since  what 
is  venial  in  verse  may  be  deemed  unpardonable 

*  Written  originally  for  the  previous  edition,  in  4  vols. 


in  prose),  when  he  frankly  lays  before  his 
readers  such  information  concerning  himself 
as  shall  enable  those,  who  will  take  the  neces- 
sary pains,  better  to  understand,  and  more 
correctly  to  appreciate,  the  merits  or  defects  of 
productions  which  have  incurred  more  censure 
and  won  more  favour  than  can  often  fall  to  the 
lot  of  an  obscure  and  solitary  adventurer  in 
verse. 

Passing  over  in  this  place  the  vicissitudes  of 
his  previous  life  till,  at  the  age  of  twenty  years, 
he  became  a  resident  in  the  town  of  Sheffield, 
he  will  offer,  as  the  least  exceptionable  mode  of 
communicating  the  proposed  intelligence,  por- 
tions of  two  statements  which  have  been  locally 
circulated,  when  he  retired  from  the  invidious 
station  which  he  had  maintained,  for  more 
than  thirty  years,  through  good  report  and 
through  evil  report,  as  proprietor  and  conduc- 
tor of  the  Iris,  a  weekly  journal  sufficiently 
notorious  in  its  day.  The  first  of  these  docu- 
ments contains  an  exposition  of  the  motives  and 
principles  on  which  he  had  acted, —  and  acted 
at  his  peril  even  to  the  last, —  throughout  his 
editorial  career;  presented  in  full  confidence 
to  those  who,  at  the  time  and  upon  the  spot, 
were  the  most  competent  judges  of  the  writer's 
veracity.  The  following  paragraphs  are  quoted 
from  the  farewell  to  his  readers  when  he  had 
parted  with  the  above-mentioned  property, — 
not  because  he  had  made  his  fortune,  but  be- 
cause he  could  not  afford  to  make  it  at  the 
expense  of  so  much  peace  of  mind  as  the  effort 
increasingly  cost  him,  "  so  to  exercise  (himself) 
as  to  have  always  a  conscience  void  of  offence, 

(xix) 


toward  God  and  toward  men," — a  duty  which 
he  found  harder  and  harder  to  fulfil,  just  in 
proportion  as  he  became  more  and  more  im- 
pressed with  the  responsibility  which  he  owed 
to  both  for  what  he  sent  forth  into  the  world 
on  all  manner  of  subjects,  and  among  all  classes 
of  the  community. 

"Sheffield,  September  27,  1S25. 

"A  man  can  seldom  speak  of  himself,  in 
public,  without  appearing  vain  or  ridiculous. 
Yet  there  are  occasions  when,  at  any  peril,  it 
is  right  for  him  to  do  so.  After  having  con- 
ducted the  Iris  for  one-and-thirty  years  and 
upwards,  I  ought  not  to  lay  down  my  pen  with- 
out a  few  words  at  parting. 

"  I  came  to  this  town  in  the  spring  of  1792, 
a  stranger  and  friendless,  without  any  intention 
or  prospect  of  making  a  long  residence  in  it, 
much  less  of  advancing  myself,  either  by  indus- 
try or  talents,  to  a  situation  that  should  give 
me  the  opportunity  of  doing  much  evil  or  much 
good,  as  I  might  act  with  indiscretion  or  tem- 
perance. The  whole  nation,  at  that  time,  was 
disturbed  from  its  propriety  by  the  example 
and  influence  of  revolutionised  France;  nor 
was  there  a  district  in  the  kingdom  more  agi- 
tated by  the  passions  and  prejudices  of  the  day 
than  this.  The  people  of  Sheffield,  in  whatever 
contempt  they  may  have  been  held  by  super- 
cilious censors,  ignorant  of  their  character,  were 
then,  as  they  are  now,  and  as  I  hope  they  ever 
will  be,  a  reading  and  a  thinking  people.  Ac- 
cording to  the  knowledge  which  they  had, 
therefore,  they  judged  for  themselves  on  the 
questions  of  reform  in  parliament,  liberty  of 
speech  and  of  the  press,  the  rights  of  man,  and 
other  egregious  paradoxes,  concerning  which 
the  wisest  and  best  men  have  always  been 
divided,  and  were  never  more  so  than  at  the 
period  above  mentioned,  when  the  decision, 
either  way,  was  not  to  be  merely  speculative 
but  practical,  and  to  affect  permanently  the 
condition  of  all  classes  of  persons  in  the  realm, 
from  the  monarch  to  the  pauper,  —  so  deep, 
comprehensive,  and  prospective  was  the  view 
taken  by  every  body,  on  the  issue  of  the  con- 


troversy. The  two  parties  in  Sheffield,  as  else- 
where, arrayed  themselves  on  the  contrary 
extremes;  some  being  for  every  thing  that  was 
old,  the  rest  for  every  thing  that  was  new. 
There  was  no  moderation  on  either  side:  each 
had  a  little  of  the  truth,  while  the  main  body 
of  it  lay  between ;  yet  it  was  not  for  this  that 
they  were  contending  (like  the  Greeks  and 
Trojans  for  the  body  of  Patroclus),  but  for 
those  few  dissevered  limbs  which  they  already 
possessed. 

"It  was  at  'the  height  of  this  great  argu- 
ment,' that  I  was  led  into  the  thickest  of  the 
conflict,  though,  happily  for  myself,  under  no 
obligation  to  take  an  active  share  in  it.  With 
all  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  —  for  I  had  not 
then  arrived  at  years  of  discretion, — I  entered 
into  the  feelings  of  those  who  avowed  them- 
selves the  friends  of  freedom,  justice,  and  hu- 
manity. Those  with  whom  I  was  immediately 
connected  verily  were  such;  and  had  all  the 
reformers  of  that  era  been  generous,  upright, 
and  disinterested,  like  the  noble-minded  pro- 
prietor of  the  Sheffield  Register  (as  this  paper 
;  was  then  called),  the  cause  which  they  espoused 
would  never  have  been  disgraced,  and  might 
have  prevailed  even  at  that  time,  since  there 
could  have  been  nothing  to  fear  and  all  to  hope 
from  patriotic  measures,  supported  by  patriotic 
men.  Though  with  every  pulse  of  my  heart 
beating  in  favour  of  the  popular  doctrines,  my 
retired  and  religious  education  had  laid  re- 
straints upon  my  conscience,  which  (I  may 
fearlessly  say  so)  long  kept  me  back  from  per- 
sonally engaging  in  the  civil  war  of  words 
raging  in  the  neighbourhood,  beyond  an  occa- 
sional rhyme,  paragraph,  or  essay,  in  the  news- 
paper, written  rather  for  the  purpose  of  showing 
my  literary  than  my  political  qualifications. 
Ignorant  of  myself,  and  inexperienced  in  the 
world  as  a  child  of  seven  years  old,  having 
actually  not  lived  so  long  among  its  every-day 
inhabitants,  even  when  I  became  editor  of  the 
Iris,  I,  nevertheless,  was  preserved  from  joining 
myself  to  any  of  the  political  societies  till  they 
were  broken  up  in  1794,  when  I  confess  I  did 
associate  with  the  remnant  of  one  of  them  tor 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


a  purpose  which  I  shall  never  be  ashamed  to 
avow, —  to  support  the  families  of  several  of 
the  accused  leaders,  who  were  detained  pri- 
soners in  London,  under  the  suspension  of  the 
Habeas  Corpus  Act,  and  who  were  finally 
discharged  without  having  been  brought  to 
trial.  I  simply  state  the  fact;  any  explanation 
of  my  motives  would  be  irrelevant  here :  they 
satisfied  me  then,  and  they  satisfy  mc  now. 
Since  that  time  I  have  had  no  correspondence 
with  any  political  party  whatever. 

"  From  the  first  moment  when  I  became  the 
director  of  a  public  journal,  I  took  my  own 
ground  ;  I  have  stood  upon  it  through  many 
years  of  changes,  and  I  rest  by  it  this  day,  as 
having  afforded  me  a  shelter  through  the  far 
greater  portion  of  my  life,  and  yet  offering  me  I 
a  grave  when  I  shall  no  longer  have  a  part  in 
any  thing  done  under  the  sun.  And  this  was 
my  ground,  —  a  plain  determination,  come 
wind  or  sun,  come  fire  or  water,  to  do  what 
was  right.  I  lay  stress  upon  the  purpose,  not 
on  the  performance,  for  that  was  the  pole-star 
to  which  my  compass  was  pointed,  though 
with  considerable  variation  of  the  needle ;  for, 
through  characteristic  weakness,  perversity  of 
understanding,  or  self-sufficiency,  I  have  often 
erred,  failed,  and  been  overcome  by  temptation 
on  the  wearisome  pilgrimage  through  which  I 
have  toiled: — now  struggling  through  'the 
Slough  of  Despondency;'  then  fighting  with 
evil  spirits,  in  'the  Valley  of  Humiliation;' 
more  than  once  escaping  martyrdom  from 
'Vanity  Fair;'  and  once  at  least  (I  will  not 
say  when)  a  prisoner  in  '  Doubting  Castle,' 
under  the  discipline  of  Giant  Despair.  Now, 
though  I  am  not  writing  this  address  in  one  of 
the  shepherds'  tents  on  the  'Delectable  Moun- 
tains.' yet,  like  Bunyan's  Christian,  I  can  look 
back  on  the  past,  with  all  its  anxieties,  trials, 
and  conflicts,  thankful  that  it  is  the  past.  Of 
the  future  I  have  little  foresight,  and  I  desire 
none  with  respect  to  this  life,  being  content  that 
'shadows,  clouds,  and  darkness  dwell  upon  it.' 
if  I  yet  may  hope  that  'at  evening  time  there 
will  be  light.'  But  1  must  return  to  days 
gone  by. 


"  It  was  on  the  4th  of  July,  1794,  that  the 
first  Iris,  in  succession  to  the  Sheffield  Register, 
was  published.  Then,  and  for  twelve  months 
ensuing,  I  was  in  partnership  with  an  esteemed 
coadjutor,  by  whose  liberality  and  confidence 
I  was  enabled  the  next  year  to  continue  the 
paper  alone.  This  was  done  under  disadvan- 
tages and  difficulties,  of  the  extent  of  which  I 
was  little  aware;  I  persevered,  however,  through 
a  series  of  sufferings,  desertions,  crosses,  and 
calamities  without  a  name,  against  which  I  had 
nothing  to  oppose  but  the  shield  of  patient 
endurance,  for  neither  sword  nor  spear  was 
found  in  my  hand.  I  had  many  foes,  but  I 
did  not  overcome  them  in  battle;  I  outlived 
their  enmity;  and  so  mercifully  did  the  Pro- 
vidence of  God  over-rule  their  wrath,  that, 
when  they  had  'repeatedly  triumphed  over  tne, 
the  very  hands  which  had  smitten  me  down 
were  stretched  out  to  rai^e  me  up,  and  by  the 
arms  that  had  fought  against  me  I  was  sup- 
ported for  years  in  a  path  of  moderate  pros- 
perity. At  the  commencement  of  my  career, 
'  twice  in  the  course  of  twelve  months  I  was 
sentenced  to  fine  and  imprisonment  for  im- 
puted offences.'  I  choose  to  quote  these  words 
from  the  preface  to  the  first  volume  in  which 
I  appeared  as  an  author.  I  can  now  add,  that 
all  the  persons  who  were  actively  concerned  in 
the  prosecutions  against  me  in  1794  and  1795 
are  dead,  and,  without  exception,  they  died  in 
peace  with  me.  I  believe  I  am  quite  correct 
in  saying  that  from  each  of  them  distinctly,  in 
the  sequel,  I  received  tokens  of  good-will,  and 
from  several  of  them  substantial  proofs  of  kind- 
ness. I  mention  not  this  as  a  plea  in  extenu- 
ation of  offences  for  which  I  bore  the  penalty 
of  the  law ;  I  rest  my  justification,  in  these 
cases,  now  on  the  same  grounds,  and  no  other, 
on  which  I  rested  my  justification  then.  I 
mention  the  circumstance  to  the  honour  of  the 
deceased,  and  as  an  evidence  that,  amidst  all  the 
violence  of  that  distracted  time,  a  better  spirit 
was  not  extinct,  but  finally  prevailed,  and  by 
its  healing  influence  did  indeed  comfort  those 
who  had  been  conscientious  sufferers.  Such 
at  least  was  my  experience,  and  gratitude  to 


God  and  man  required  this  testimony  from  me, 
when  the  motives  from  which  it  is  given  can- 
not be  suspected. 

"  On  two  other  occasions  I  was  in  danger  of 
legal  vengeance.  In  the  first  case,  I  had  been 
merely  the  printer  and  publisher  of  a  tract, 
for  a  person  of  wealth  and  character,  who,  I 
admit,  may  possibly  have  been  ignorant  of  the 
misery  of  fear  and  suspense  in  which  he  in- 
volved me,  for,  till  a  prosecution  should  be 
actually  commenced,  I  had  determined  never 
to  apply  to  him,  and  I  never  did.  [Nor  did 
he  ever  allude  to  the  circumstance  in  later  in- 
tercourse with  me.]  That  gentleman,  if  living, 
now  resides  far  from  Sheffield,  and  will  not  be 
betrayed  by  this  intimation  concerning  a  fact 
which  I  state  as  a  warning  to  inexperienced 
publishers.  The  article  itself  was  a  specu- 
lative argument  respecting  war,  and,  like  all 
other  charges  which  have  been  brought  against 
me,  referred  to  the  iniquity  of  shedding  man's 
blood.  The  next  case  of  threatened,  but 
abortive,  prosecution  assumed  a  more  formi- 
dable aspect,  the  subject  being  a  paragraph  of 
my  own,  which  appeared  in  the  Iris  in  the 
autumn  of  1805,  containing  some  strictures 
on  the  campaign  in  Germany,  in  which  the 
renowned  General  Mack  certainly  saved  an 
immense  effusion  of  human  blood,  by  sur- 
rendering himself  and  his  army  alive  into  the 
hands  of  Buonaparte.  I  never  knew  how  this 
blow  missed  me,  for  it  was  aimed  with  a  cor- 
diality that  meant  no  repetition  of  the  stroke. 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  meet  it  'as  the 
anvil  meets  the  hammer,' — to  avow  the  sen- 
timents, and  stand  or  fall  by  them,  without 
any  other  defence  than  the  simple  plea  of '  Not 
guilty.'  The  death  of  Lord  Nelson  probably 
saved  me;  for  in  the  next  Iris,  having  to 
announce  that  lamentable  event,  I  did  it  in 
such  a  strain  of  patriotism  (in  the  best  sense 
of  that  word)  that  my  former  week's  disloyalty 
was  thereafter  overlooked.  I  have  sometimes 
thought  that  I  was  indebted  for  my  escape  to 
the  firmness  and  good  sense  of  a  gentleman  in 
authority,  who  declined  to  countenance  the 
conspiracy  against  me. 


"No  man  who  did  not  live  amidst  the 
delirium  of  those  evil  days,  and  that  strife  of 
evil  tongues,  can  well  imagine  the  bitterness 
of  animosity  which  infatuated  the  zealous 
partisans.  I  was  peculiarly  unfortunate  in 
being  the  heir,  I  may  say,  to  the  treasured 
wrath  that  was  ready  to  burst  upon  the  head 
of  my  predecessor,  at  my  very  outset  in  the 
world  of  politics;  for  example,  —  before  I  had 
committed  any  offence  whatever,  —  I  found 
myself  visited  with  a  punishment  directly  in- 
tended for  another,  in  the  withdrawal  of  all 
the  county-advertisements  from  the  Iris, 
merely  because  it  took  the  vacated  place  of  the 
Sheffield  Register.  It  was  years  before  those 
advertisements  were  allowed  to  me.  Nay, 
such  was  the  reign  of  terror  at  home,  that 
persons,  well  disposed  to  serve  me  in  the  way 
of  business,  have  brought  their  orders  to  the 
office,  with  express  injunctions  that  no  im- 
print should  appear  at  the  foot  of  their  bills, 
&c,  lest  they  should  give  offence,  and  come 
to  harm  for  having  employed  an  obnoxious 
press. 

"It  is  true,  that,  amidst  all  these  tribula- 
tions, I  had  many  ardent  and  active  friends, 
by  whose  help  I  was  carried  through  my 
legal  adversities  with  small  pecuniary  loss, 
and  with  all  the  consolations  which  kind  offices 
could  afford.  One  instance  of  rare  magnani- 
mity I  must  mention.  The  late  Doctor  Browne 
stood  by  me  through  every  perplexity.  He 
was  then  at  the  head  of  the  town,  and  having 
the  command  of  all  the  public  business  he  never 
failed  to  throw  as  much  of  it  into  my  hands  as 
circumstances  would  warrant.  What  rivals 
solicited,  and  enemies  would  have  intercepted, 
he  resolutely  and  gratuitously  bestowed  upon 
me,  though  I  never  asked  a  boon  of  him,  nor 
in  any  way  compromised  my  own  independ- 
ence to  insure  his  patronage.  Even  when  I 
was  under  prosecution,  and  in  prison,  at  the 
instance  of  those  with  whom  he  was  politically 
connected,  he  never  changed  countenance 
towards  me,  nor  omitted  an  opportunity  of 
serving  me.  The  resolutions  and  addresses  of 
loyal  meetings  he  has  repeatedly  brought  away 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


with  him  to  my  office,  jocularly  telling  me 
what  battles  he  had  been  fighting  in  my  behalf 
to  win  them.  The  manliness  with  which  these 
favours  were  conferred,  gave  them  a  grace 
and  a  value  beyond  what  I  could  estimate  at 
the  time,  and,  probably,  secured  for  me  a 
measure  of  personal  respect  in  the  town, 
which,  otherwise,  I  might  not  have  so  easily 
obtained.  It  was  in  the  crisis  of  my  affairs, 
and  during  the  heedlessness  of  youth  respect- 
ing ulterior  consequences,  that  he  thus  deli- 
cately and  dexterously  aided  me,  both  against 
my  adversaries  and  myself.  Meanwhile  1  did 
not  shrink  from  expressing  my  own  opinions 
in  the  very  newspapers  which  he  made  the 
vehicle  of  his  when  at  variance  with  mine; 
nor  did  I  perceive  that  I  lost  his  esteem  by 
such  conduct.  On  one  occasion,  indeed  (not 
political),  we  had  a  misunderstanding  respect- 
ing a  point  which  he  very  earnestly  urged, 
but  which  I  would  not  yield,  because  I  was 
confidently  right,  according  to  my  most  de- 
liberate judgment.  This  disagreement  occurred 
during  a  personal  interview  at  his  house;  but 
I  had  scarcely  reached  home,  when  I  received 
from  him  a  conciliatory  message,  which  did 
equal  credit  to  his  candour  and  his  conde- 
scension. This  tribute  I  gladly  pay  to  the 
memory  of  the  greatest  public  character  that 
has  done  honour  or  service  to  Sheffield ;  and 
I  should  prove  myself  unworthy  of  his  former 
regards,  if  I  did  not  thus  record  the  name  of 
Doctor  Browne  as  one  of  my  earliest,  longest, 
and  best  benefactors. 

"  At  the  close  of  1805  ended  the  romance  of 
my  life.  The  last  twenty  years  have  brought 
their  cares  and  their  trials  with  them,  but  these 
have  been  of  the  ordinary  kind,  —  not  always 
the  better  to  bear  on  that  account.  On  a 
review  of  them  I  can  affirm,  that  I  have  en- 
deavoured, according  to  my  knowledge  and 
ability,  to  serve  my  townspeople  and  my  coun- 
try with  as  little  regard  to  the  fear  or  favour 
of  party-men  as  personal  infirmity  would 
admit.  From  the  beginning  I  have  been  no 
favourite  with  such  characters.  By  '  the  Aris- 
tocrats' I  was  persecuted,  and  abandoned  by 


'  the  Jacobins'  (as  the  contending  factions  were 
reciprocally  styled  in  those  days).  I  have 
found  as  little  grace  in  the  sight  of  the  milder 
representatives  of  these  two  classes  in  later 
times;  yet,  if  either  have  cause  to  complain, 
it  is,  that  I  have  occasionally  taken  part  with 
the  other,  and  sometimes  dissented  from  both, 
—  a  presumptive  proof  of  my  impartiality. 
Whatever  charges  of  indecision  may  be  brought 
against  me  by  those  who  will  see  only  one  side 
of  every  thing,  while  I  am  often  puzzled  by 
seeing  so  many  as  hardly  to  be  able  to  make 
out  the  shape  of  the  object,  —  it  cannot  be 
denied,  that,  on  the  most  important  questions 
which  have  exercised  the  understandings  or 
the  sympathies  of  the  people  of  England,  I 
have  never  flinched  from  declaring  my  own 
sentiments,  at  the  sacrifice  both  of  popularity 
and  interest.     I  refrain  from  particulars. 

"  If  I  have  not  done  all  the  good  which  I 
might,  and  which  I  ought  to  have  done,  I 
have  rejected  many  opportunities  of  doing 
mischief;  —  a  negative  kind  of  virtue,  which 
sometimes  costs  no  small  self-denial  in  the 
editor  of  a  public  journal  to  practise.  While 
I  quit  a  painful  responsibility  in  laying  down  my 
office,  I  am  sensible  that  I  resign  the  posses- 
sion of  great  power  and  influence  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood. These  I  cannot  have  exercised 
through  so  many  years  without  having  made 
the  character  of  my  townspeople  something 
different  from  what  it  would  have  been,  had  I 
never  come  among  them.  Whether  they  are 
better  or  worse  for  my  existence  here,  they 
themselves  are  the  best  judges.  This  I  can 
affirm,  that  I  have  perseveringly  '  sought  the 
peace  of  the  city'  wherein  I  was  led  as  an 
exile  to  dwell;  and  never  neglected  an  occa- 
sion (so  far  as  I  can  remember)  to  promote 
the  social,  moral,  and  intellectual  improvement 
of  its  inhabitants.  Nor  in  retirement  can  I 
forget,  that  the  same  duty  I  still  owe  to  them. 
Either  through  the  channel  of  this  paper,  or 
by  personal  exertions  for  the  public  welfare,  I 
shall  be  happy  to  avail  myself  of  any  favour- 
able opportunity  to  show  my  gratitude  for  all 
the  hospitality,  patience,  kindness,  and  friend- 


xxii- 


QBNBBAI   PREFACE. 


ship,  which  I  have  hitherto  experienced  from 
the  people  of  Sheffield." 


After  circulating  the  foregoing  address  at 
the  close  of  his  editorial  course,  the  Author  of 
these  volumes  had  no  thought  of  further  in- 
truding his  personal   affairs  upon  the  public, 
either°at  home  or  abroad ;  but,  in  November 
of  the  same  year  (1825),  an  entertainment 
having  been  given  him  by  his  townspeople  and 
neighbours,   of  every   shade  of  political   and 
religious  distinction,  avowedly  as  a  token  of 
respect  and  esteem  for  him,  both  in  his  public 
and  his  private  character,  he  was  necessarily 
called  upon  to  make   some  acknowledgment 
for  the  honour   and  kindness   thus   bestowed 
upon   him.     From   the   printed  report  of  the 
sentiments  which  he  uttered  on  that  occasion, 
the  following  passages  referred  more  distinctly 
than  would  have  been  becoming  in  the  news- 
paper farewell  to  his  literary  aspirations,  dis- 
appointments, and  successes.     The  preamble 
and  close,  bearing  principally  upon  the  speaker's 
conduct  in  certain  local  concerns  with  which 
be  had   been   long    and    actively   connected, 
would   be   irrelevant    here.       Lord   Viscount 
Milton  (now  the  Earl  Fitzwilliam)  being  in 
the  chair,  their  guest  gave  the  following  ac- 
count to  his  Lordship  and  the  company  of  his 
former  labours  and  sufferings  : — 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  ever  stood  in  a  more 
difficult  situation  than  that  in  which  I  find 
mvself  at  this  moment.  I  have  often  en- 
countered opposition ;  and,  if  I  have  seldom 
triumphed,  I  have  never  been  so  vanquished 
by  hostility,  but  that  I  have  in  the  end  risen 
above  it  Against  friendship,  however,  I 
cannot  hold  out;  the  force  of  kindness  is  too 
much  for  me ;  I  yield,  and  cast  myself  on 
your  indulgence,  confident  that  this  will  not 
fail  me,  though  both  thoughts  and  language 
may,  in  attempting  to  address  you  under  my 
present  embarrassment. 

***** 
"  Since  I  came  to  this  town  I  have  stood 
through  many  a  fierce  and  bitter  storm,  and  I 
wrapt0 the  mantle  of  pride  tighter  and  tighter 


about  my  bosom,  the  heavier  and  harder  the 
blast  beat  upon  me;  nay,  when  I  was  prostrate 
in  the  dust,  without  power  to  rise,  or  a  tnend 
strong  enough  to  raise  me,  I  still  clung  to  my 
pride?  or,  rather,  my  pride  clung  to  me.  like 
the  venomed  robe  of  Hercules,  not  to  be  torn 
awav  but  at  the  expense  of  life  itself.     How- 
ever haughtily  1  may  have  carried  myself  in 
later  trials  and  conflicts,  the  warmth  and  sun- 
shine of  this  evening,  within  these  walls,  compel 
me,  irresistibly,  because  willingly,  to  cast  off 
every  encumbrance,  to  lay  my  pride  at  your 
feet,  and  stand  before  you  modestly,  yet  up- 
right, in  the  garment  of  humility.     But  the 
humility  which  I  now  assume  is  as  remote  as 
possible  from  baseness  and  servility  ;  nay,  it  is 
allied  to  whatever  is  noble  and  excellent  in 
social  feeling— it  is  the  offspring  of  gratitude; 
gratitude  for  the  favour  shown  to  me  this  day, 
by  friends,  fellow-townsmen,  and  neighbours. 
1  The   deaf  and  dumb   boy  being   required  to 
'  define  '  gratitude,'  wrote  down  upon  his  slate, 
!  'it  is  the  remembrance  of  the  heart:'— may 
rny  heart  never  lose  its  memory  ! 

***** 
"With   politics  I  do  not  mean   to  trouble 
you  here ;  I  have  already  made  my  last  speech 
"and  confession  on  those  topics,  as  Editor  of  the 
Iris.     Respecting  that  farewell  address,  I  know 
not  that  I  have  any  thing  to  add,  to  explain, 
or  to  retract.     I  give  credit  to  every  gentleman 
present  for  as  much  honesty  in  the  choice  of 
his  opinions,  and  as  much  independence  in  the 
assertion  of  them,  as  I  have  always  claimed  for 
mvself;  I  only  ask,  what,  indeed,  the  presence 
of  so   many   reputable   persons  of  dissimilar 
persuasions,  at  this  social  board,  assures   me 
that  I  have,— I  only  ask  that  I  may  be  judged 
by  others  as  I  myself  desire  to  judge  them.     I 
may  be  allowed  to  observe,  that  if  there  be  a 
day  in  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-rive  that 
compose  the  year,  — and  surely  out  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty-five  there  must  be  one  at 
least,— on  which  the  civil  war  of  parties  should 
be  suspended,  and  a  truce,  nay  a  jubilee,  of  all 
\  true   patriots   held ;    it   is   the   fourth   of  No- 
vember (the  speaker's  birthday),  on  which  are 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


commemorated,  not  the  event  only,  but  the 
principles,  of  the  Revolution  of  1688.  From 
these  principles  we  all  profess  to  derive  our 
peculiarities;  —  before  we  take  one  step,  then, 
towards  dissension,  we  are  all  standing  on 
common  ground,  and,  to  be  consistent,  we  must 
be  concordant  to-day. 

"But  the  terms  of  the  requisition  for  this 
meeting  warrant,  if  they  do  not  make  it  in- 
cumbent on  me,  that  I  should  allude  to  a 
character  in  which  I  have  won  more  honour, 
and  hardly  suffered  less  severely,  than  I  have 
done  in  politics.  In  the  issue  of  circumstances 
too  minute  and  perplexing  to  bear  exposure 
here,  the  following  was  my  situation  when  I 
came,  a  stranger,  to  Sheffield.  I  had  fondly, 
foolishly,  sacrificed  all  my  friends,  connections, 
and  prospects  in  life,  and  thrown  myself  head- 
long into  the  world,  with  the  sole  view  of 
acquiring  poetic  laurels.  The  early,  ardent 
breathing  of  my  soul  from  boyhood  had  been, 

'  What  shall  I  do  to  be  for  ever  known  ?' 

(Cowley.) 

and  to  gain  '  golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of 
men'  by  the  power  of  my  imagined  genius,  was 
the  cherished  hope  and  determined  purpose  of 
my  mind.  In  the  retirement  of  Fulneck, 
among  the  Moravian  Brethren,  by  whom  I  had 
been  educated,  I  was  nearly  as  ignorant  of  the 
world  and  its  every-day  concerns,  as  those 
gold  fishes  swimming  about  in  the  glass  globe 
on  the  pedestal  before  us  are  of  what  we  are 
doing  around  them ;  and  when  I  took  the  rash 
step  of  running  into  the  vortex,  I  was  nearly 
as  little  prepared  for  the  business  of  general 
life,  as  they  would  be  to  take  a  part  in  our 
proceedings,  were  they  to  leap  out  of  their 
element  upon  this  table.  The  experience  of 
something  more  than  two  years  (at  the  time  to 
which  I  now  refer)  had  awakened  me  to  the 
unpoetical  realities  around  me,  and  I  was  left 


*  The  author  of  Peak  Scenery,  a  beautiful  de- 
scriptive work,  embellished  with  admirable  engrav- 
ings from  sketches  by  Sir  Francis  Chantrey.  Mr. 
Rhodes  might  have  been  a  poet  of  no  mean  order, 


to  struggle  alone  amidst  the  crowd  that  com- 
pose the  world,  without  any  of  those  inspiring 
motives  left  to  cheer  me,  under  the  delusive 
influence  of  which  I  had  flung  myself  amidst 
scenes,  and  into  society,  fur  which  I  was  wholly 
unfit  by  feeling,  taste,  habit,  or  bodily  con- 
stitution. Thus,  I  came  hither,  with  all  my 
hopes  blighted  like  the  leaves  and  blossoms  of 
a  premature  spring,  when  the  woods  are  spun 
over  with  insects'  webs,  or  crawling  with  cater- 
pillars. There  was  yet  life,  but  it  was  perverse 
unnatural  life,  in  my  mind ;  and  the  renown 
which  I  found  to  be  unattainable,  at  that 
time,  by  legitimate  poetry,  I  resolved  to  secure 
by  such  means  as  made  many  of  my  contempo- 
raries notorious.  I  wrote  verse  in  the  doggerel 
strain  of  Peter  Pindar,  and  prose  sometimes  in 
imitation  of  Fielding  and  Smollett,  and  occa- 
sionally in  the  strange  style  of  the  German  plays 
and  romances  then  in  vogue.  Effort  after 
eflbrt  failed.  A  Providence  of  disappointment 
shut  every  door  in  my  face  by  which  I  at- 
tempted to  force  my  way  to  a  dishonourable 
fame.  I  was  thus  happily  saved  from  appear- 
ing as  the  author  of  works  which,  at  this  hour, 
I  should  have  been  ashamed  to  acknowledge 
before  you.  Disheartened  at  length  with  ill 
success,  I  gave  myself  up  to  indolence  and 
apathy,  and  lost  seven  years  of  that  part  of  my 
you  tli  which  ought  to  have  been  the  most 
active  and  profitable,  in  alternate  listlessness 
and  despondency,  using  no  further  exertion  in 
my  office  affairs  than  was  necessary  to  keep  up 
my  credit  under  heavy  pecuniary  obligations, 
and  gradually  though  slowly  to  liquidate  them. 
"During  this  dreary  interval,  I  had  but  one 
friend  and  counsellor  at  home,  Mr.  Ebenezer 
Rhodes,*  and  another  at  Manchester,  Mr. 
Joseph  Aston,  with  whom  I  frequently  cor- 
responded. To  these  two  I  confided  my 
schemes,  enterprises,  and  miscarriages;  and 
they,  so  far  as  they  could,  consoled  me  with 


had  he  continued  to  cultivate  the  talent  by  which 
he  was  advantageously  known  in  his  youth.  He 
departed  this  life  in  December,  1839. 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


anticipations  of  a  favourable  change  in  the 
taste  of  the  times,  or  a  luckier  application  of 
my  talents,  when  such  productions  as  mine 
might  be  acceptable  to  the  public.  About  the 
year  1803  I  wrote,  in  my  better  vein  of 
seriousness  (being  sickened  with  buffoonery 
and  extravagance),  a  lyric  poem,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  Iris  under  a  signature  not  likely 
to  betray  me.  Such  were  the  unexpected 
applauses  bestowed  upon  this  piece  (especially 
by  the  friends  whom  I  have  named),  that, 
thenceforward,  I  returned  to  the  true  Muses, 
abjured  my  former  eccentricities,  and  said  to 
myself, 

'  Give  me  an  honest  fame,  or  give  me  none.' 

(Pope.) 

Though  I  made  not  a  literal  vow  to  this 
purport,  yet  I  have  ever  since  endeavoured  to 
act  as  though  such  a  vow  were  upon  me ;  and 
I  do  think,  that  no  person  in  this  room,  or 
elsewhere,  can  rise  up  to  contradict  me.  One 
occasional  lay  after  another,  in  the  same  re- 
formed spirit,  were  issued  in  the  course  of  the 
two  following  years.  I  then  began  to  collect 
the  series  into  a  volume  for  publication. 
While  this  was  slowly  proceeding  through  my 
own  press,  a  gentleman  of  high  talent  and  skill 
both  in  poetry  and  painting,  Mr.  William 
Carey,  made  several  visits  to  Sheffield;  and 
with  him  I  soon  became  so  well  acquainted, 
that  I  freely  communicated  to  him  my  poems 
and  my  projects.  With  zeal,  intrepidity,  and 
perseverance  most  exemplary,  he  took  up  my 
cause,  and  not  only  recommended  the  unknown 
poet  in  distant  parts  of  the  kingdom  which  he 
visited  professionally,  but  made  me  better 
known  as  such  even  at  home,  where  for  a  long 
period  I  had  been  principally  celebrated  as 
the  writer  of  a  weekly  article,  entitled  Facts 
and  Rumours,  in  my  own  newspaper.  *  *  * 
"  Soon  afterwards  The  Wanderer  of  Swit- 
zerland appeared,  and  was  immediately  hailed 
by  another  stranger  of  distinguished  abilities, 
as  a  poet,  an  essayist,  and  a  critic, —  the  late 
Dr.  Aikin.  He  took  the  poor  foundling 
under  his  protection, — I  may  say,  adopted  it 


into  his  family, — for  his  illustrious  sister,  Mrs. 
Barbauld,  and  his  accomplished  daughter, 
Miss  Lucy  Aikin  (who  has  since  proved 
herself  worthy  of  her  lineage  by  her  own 
admirable  writings),  as  well  as  two  of  the 
Doctor's  sons,  each  eminently  gifted, — I  eagerly 
avail  myself  of  the  present  happy  opportunity 
of  confessing  obligations, —  these,  all  utterly 
unknown  to  me,  except  by  their  respective 
works,  introduced  my  little  volume  into  the 
literary  circles  of  the  metropolis,  and  secured 
for  it,  within  a  few  weeks,  a  reading,  which 
advertisements  and  reviews  might  not  have 
obtained  in  twelve  months.  This  poem  and 
its  accompaniments  were  rapidly  rising  in  re- 
putation, when  a  critical  blast  came  over  my 
second  spring  from  so  deadly  a  quarter  ( The 
Edinburgh  Review),  that  I  thought  my  im- 
mortality once  more,  and  for  the  last  time, 
slain.  The  devoted  volume,  however,  survived, 
and  it  survives  to  this  hour.  Meanwhile  one 
publication  after  another  was  issued,  and 
success  upon  success,  in  the  course  of  a  few 
years,  crowned  my  labours, —  not  indeed  with 
fame  and  fortune,  as  these  were  lavished  on 
my  greater  contemporaries,  in  comparison 
with  whose  magnificent  possessions  on  the 
British  Parnassus,  my  small  plot  of  ground  is 
no  more  than  Naboth's  vineyard  to  Ahab's 
kingdom :  but  it  is  my  own,  it  is  no  copyhold  ; 
I  borrowed  it,  I  leased  it,  from  none.  Every 
foot  of  it  I  enclosed  from  the  common  myself; 
and  I  can  say  that  not  an  inch  which  I  had 
once  gained  have  I  ever  lost.  I  attribute  this 
to  no  extraordinary  power  of  genius,  or  felicity 
of  talent  in  the  application  of  such  power  as 
I  may  possess ;  —  the  estimate  of  that  I  leave 
to  you  who  hear  me,  not  in  this  moment  of 
generous  enthusiasm,  but  when  the  evening's 
enjoyment  shall  come  under  the  morning's 
reflection.  The  secret  of  my  moderate  success 
I  consider  to  have  been  the  right  direction  of 
my  abilities  to  right  objects.  In  following 
this  course  I  have  had  to  contend  with  many 
disadvantages,  as  well  as  resolutely  to  avoid 
the  most  popular  and  fashionable  ways  to 
fame.     I  followed  no  mighty  leader,  belonged 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


to  no  school  of  the  poets,  pandered  to  no 
impure  passion;  I  veiled  no  vice  in  delicate 
disguise,  gratified  no  malignant  propensity  to 
personal  satire ;  courted  no  powerful  patronage; 
I  wrote  neither  to  suit  the  manners,  the  taste, 
nor  the  temper  of  the  age;  but  I  appealed  to 
universal  principles,  to  imperishable  affections, 
to  primary  elements  of  our  common  nature, 
found  wherever  man  is  found  in  civilised 
society, — wherever  his  mind  has  been  raised 
above  barbarian  ignorance,  or  his  passions 
purified  from  brutal  selfishness. 

"  I  sang  of  war, — but  it  was  the  war  of  free- 
dom, in  which  death  was  preferred  to  chains. 
I  sang  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade,  that 
most  glorious  decree  of  the  British  Legislature 
at  any  period  since  the  Revolution,  by  the  first 
parliament  in  which  you,  my  Lord,  sat  as  the 
representative  of  Yorkshire.  Oh  !  how  should 
I  rejoice  to  sing  the  Abolition  of  Slavery  itself 
by  some  parliament  of  which  your  Lordship 
shall  yet  be  a  member!  This  greater  act  of 
righteous  legislation  is  surely  not  too  remote 
to  be  expected  even  in  our  day.  Renouncing 
the  Slave  Trade  was  only  '  ceasing  to  do  evil;' 
extinguishing  slavery  will  be  'learning  to  do 
well.'  Again:  I  sang  of  love,  the  love  of 
country,  the  love  of  my  own  country ;  for, 

.     .     .     .     next  to  heaven  above, 
Land  of  my  fathers  !  thee  I  love; 
And,  rail  thy  slanderers  as  tliey  will, 
With  all  thy  faults  I  love  thee  still ! 

I  sang,  likewise,  the  love  of  home;  its  charities, 
endearments,  and  relationship;  all  that  makes 
'  Home  sweet  Home ;'  the  recollection  of  which, 
when  the  air  of  that  name  was  just  now  played 
from  yonder  gallery,  warmed  every  heart 
throughout  this  room  into  quicker  pulsations. 
I  sang  the  love  which  man  ought  to  bear  to- 
wards his  brother,  of  every  kindred,  and 
country,  and  clime  upon  earth.  I  sang  the 
love  of  virtue  which  elevates  man  to  his  true 
standard  under  heaven.  I  sang,  too,  the  love 
of  Gon,  who  is  love.  Nor  did  I  sing  in  vain. 
I  found  readers  and  listeners,  especially  among 
the  young,  the  fair,  and  the  devout ;  and    as 


youth,  beauty,  and  piety  will  not  soon  cease 
out  of  the  land,  I  may  expect  to  be  remembered 
through  another  generation  at  least,  if  I  leave 
any  thing  behind  me  worthy  of  remembrance. 
I  may  add,  that  from  every  part  of  the  British 
empire,  from  every  quarter  of  the  world  where 
our  language  is  spoken, —  from  America,  the 
East  and  West  Indies,  from  New  Holland  and 
the  South  Sea  Islands  themselves, — I  have 
received  testimonies  of  approbation  from  all 
ranks  and  degrees  of  readers,  hailing  what  I 
had  done,  and  cheering  me  forward.  I  allude 
not  to  criticisms  and  eulogiums  from  the  press, 
but  to  voluntary  communications  from  un- 
known correspondents,  coming  to  me  like 
voices  out  of  darkness,  and  giving  intimation 
of  that  which  the  ear  of  a  poet  is  always 
hearkening  onward  to  catch,  —  the  voice  of 
posterity. 

"But  I  might  have  been  a  notable  politician 
in  my  day,  and  forgotten  as  soon  as  my  day 
was  over.  I  might  have  been  a  far  greater 
poet  than  I  am  deemed,  and  have  left  a  name 
behind  me,  which  would  have  rendered  illus- 
trious the  place  where  I  had  so  long  resided ; 
and,  in  either  of  these  cases,  honours  and  re- 
wards suitable  to  my  pretensions  might  have 
been  conferred  upon  me, — but  they  would  not 
have  been  such  as  my  townspeople  and  neigh- 
bours have  this  day  bestowed  upon  me.  For 
these  I  am  mainly  indebted  to  a  circumstance 
of  equal  interest  both  to  the  benefactors  and 
the  beneficiary, —  I  have  been  your  fellow- 
labourer  in  many  a  great  and  good  work  for 
the  amelioration  of  the  condition,  not  of  the 
poor  only,  but  of  every  class  of  the  community 
in  Sheffield  and  Hallamshire.  *****  All 
eyes  have  been  continually  upon  me;  and  as  I 
have  seldom  done  absolutely  ill,  and  appeared 
to  be  generally — nay,  I  will  say  sincerely,  that 
I  was  actually  —  endeavouring  to  do  well,  I 
have  gained  credit  for  my  deeds  rather  pro- 
portioned to  my  obvious  intentions  than  my 
positive  merits.  The  rewards  and  honours 
which  I  am  enjoying  through  your  kindness, 
!  therefore,  are  not  the  hasty  expressions  of  tem- 
porary feeling;  —  they  have  been  more  than 


GENERAL    PREFACE. 


thirty  years  in  preparation.     For  these  1  re- 
turn you  my  most  fervent  and  cordial  acknow-  < 
ledgments;  but,  in  conclusion,  let  me  frankly 
state  the  situation  in  which  you  have  placed  ' 
me  from  this  day  forward. 

"  You  have  brought  me  to  this  altar  of 
hospitality.  We  have  broken  bread,  we  have 
eaten  salt  together.  And  you  have  done  this, 
not  merely  to  give  me  a  splendid  proof,  in  the 
eyes  of  all  the  world,  of  the  estimation  in  which 
you  hold  my  general  conduct  and  character 
since  I  became  an  inhabitant  of  Sheffield;  — 
but  you  have  done  it,  al^o,  to  require  of  me  a 
pledge  that  my  future  conduct  and  character 
shall  correspond  with  the  past.  And  this  I  ; 
give  you  freely,  fully,  hand,  and  heart,  and 
voice.  *  *  *  *  But  let  me  remind  you,  that  ; 
you  have  committed  to  my  keeping  a  very 
perilous  charge.  The  honour  awarded  to  me, 
with  all  deference  to  your  judgment,  is  one 
which;  perhaps,  ought  rather  to  have  been 
posthumous  than  antedated.  *  *  *  *  'No 
man  can  bo  pronounced  happy  till  lie  is  dead,' 
said  a  sage  of  antiquity.  In  the  same  spirit  I 
may  say,  No  man's  character  is  secure  till 
death  has  set  the  seal  of  eternity  upon  it. 
Mine,  however,  unsealed,  you  have  given  to 
my  own  custody.  Recollecting  that  the  credit 
of  yours  is  now  implicated  with  it,  I  shall  have 
a  double  motive  to  deliver  safely,  and  in  due 
course,  this  yet  unratified  instrument  of  trust, 
at  the  grave,  there  to  be  enregistered  till  the 
great  day  of  account.  If  I  succeed  in  doing 
this,  I  may  with  confidence  leave  the  care  of 
my  good  name  to  your  posterity." 


The  foregoing  records,  rescued  from  the 
perishing  pages  of  the  local  newspapers  of  the 
day,  will  not,  after  the  lapse  of  fifteen  years, 
be  less,  but  rather  more,  necessary  for  the 
proper  intelligence  of  many  of  the  pieces, 
especially  the  earlier  ones,  contained  in  these 
volumes.  The  principal  poems  are  now  re- 
published in  the  same  order  as  they  originally 
appeared,  accompanied,  for  the  most  part,  by 
the  miscellaneous  compositions  then  attached 
to  them. 

From  the  preface  to  the  former  edition  of 
these  collected  productions  the  following  para- 
graph shall  close  this  retrospective  preamble  : 
— "  On  the  greater  part  of  these  poems,  the 
judgment  of  the  public  has  been  so  long  ex- 
ercised, and  so  gradually  formed,  that  it  may, 
by  this  time,  be  considered  irreversible. 
Wherefore,  having  little  further  to  hope,  and 
less,  perhaps,  than  once  he  had  to  fear,  the 
Author  is  willing  to  acknowledge  that,  with 
the  place  which  has  been  assigned  to  him 
among  numerous  and  far  more  successful  con- 
temporaries, he  has  abundant  reason  to  be 
satisfied.  What  may  become  of  his  name  and 
his  writings  in  the  next  age,  it  is  not  for  him 
to  anticipate  here ;  he  has  honestly  endeavoured 
to  serve  his  own  generation,  and,  on  the  whole, 
has  been  careful  to  leave  nothing  behind  him 
to  make  the  world  worse  for  his  having  existed 
in  it,  and  obtained  an  influence,  however  small, 
beyond  his  personal  circle,  and  to  the  brief 
limit  of  what  may  be  his  posthumous  memory." 

'Tin-  Mount,  near  Sheffield, 
October  27,  1S40. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  WANDERER  OP  SWITZERLAND. 

Page 

Introduction 33 

Parti 35 

Part  II 37 

Tart  III 39 

Part  IV 41 

Part  V 43 

Part  TI 4a 

THE  WEST  INDIES. 

Preface  47 

To  the  Public 48 

Tart  1 49 

Part  II 51 

Part  III 54 

Part  IV 58 

THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 

Preface  to  this  Edition 63 

The  Original  Preface 64 

To  the  Spirit  of  a  departed  Friend 65 

Introductory  Note 66 

Canto  1 66 

Canto  n TO 

Canto  in 73 

Canto  IV 76 

Canto  V 80 

Canto  VI 84 

Canto  VII 88 

Canto  VTII 91 

Canto  IX 95 

Canto  X 98 

GREENLAND. 

Preface 102 

Cauto  1 102 

Canto  II 109 

Canto  III 113 

Canto  IV 119 

Canto  V 124 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 

Tage 

Preface  132 

Canto  1 133 

Canto  II 136 

Canto  III 139 

Cauto  IV 141 

Canto  V 146 

Canto  VI 148 

Canto  VII 154 

Canto  VTII 157 

Canto  IX 160 

PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 

Introduction 166 

Verses  to  a  Robin  Red-breast,  who  visits  the  Window 

of  my  Prison  every  day 175 

Moonlight 175 

The  Captive  Nightingale 176 

Ode  to  the  Evening  Star 177 

Soliloquy  of  a  Water-Wagtail  on  the  Walls  of  York 

Castle 178 

The  Pleasures  of  Imprisonment 179 

TheBramin 1S2 

A  Tale  Too  True;  being  a  Supplement  to  the  Prison 

Amusements 184 

THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 

Preface 180 

No.  I.  The  Combat 190 

No.  II.  The  Car  of  Juggernaut 190 

No.  III.  The  Inquisition 191 

No.  IV.  The  State  Lottery 192 

No.  V.  To  Britain 195 

THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 

Introduction 196 

Prologue.    A  Word  with  Myself 199 

No.  I.  The  Complaint 199 

No.  II.  The  Dream 200 

No.  III.  Easter  Monday  at  Sheffield 203 

(xxix) 


CONTENTS. 


SOXGS  OF  ZIOX. 

Page 

Preface 207 

Psalm        1 2(17 

III 207 

IY.    No.  1 208 

IV.     No.  2 203 

Till 208 

XI 208 

XV 209 

XIX.     No.  1 209 

XIX.     No.  2 209 

XX 209 

XXIII 210 

XXIV.     No.  1 210 

XXIV.     Xo.  2 210 

XXIV.    (The  Second  Version.)    No.  1 211 

XXIV.    (The  Second  Version.)    No.  2 211 

XXVII.    Xo.  1 211 

XXVII.    No.  2 211 

XXIX 212 

XXX 212 

XXXIX 212 

XLII.     No.  1 218 

XLII.     Xo.  2 213 

XLIII.     [Continuation  of  Psalm  XLII.]     Xo.  3.  214 

XLVI.    Xo.  1 214 

XLVI.    No.  2 214 

XLVII 21 J 

XLVTII 215 

LI 215 

LXI1I 216 

LXIX 216 

LXX 216 

LXXI 217 

LXXII 217 

LXXIII 218 

LXVII 218 

LXXX 219 

LXXXIV 219 

XC 220 

XCI 221 

XCIII 221 

XCV 221 

C 222 

cm 222 

CIV 222 

CVII.     Xo.  1 223 

CVII.     No.  2 221 

CVII.     No.  3 224 

CVII.     No.  4 224 

CVII.     No.  5 225 

CXIII 225 

CXV1 225 

CXVII 220 

CXXI 220 

CXXII 220 

CXXIV 227 


Page 

CXXV 227 

CXXVI 227 

CXXX 228 

CXXXI 228 

CXXXII.     No.  1 288 

CXXX1I.     Xo.  2 228 

CXXXIII 229 

Psalm  CXXXIV 229 

CXXXVII 229 

CXXX  VIII 229 

CXXXIX 230 

CXLI - 

CXL1I 231 

CXLIII 231 

CXLV 231 

CXLVI 232 

CXLVIII 232 

NARRATIVES. 

Farewell  to  War 233 

Lord  Falkland's  Dream 234 

The  Patriot's  Pass-word 238 

The  Voyage  of  the  Blind 23,9 

An  Every-day  Tale 212 

A  Tale  without  a  Name 244 

A  Snake  in  the  Grass:  a  Tale  for  Children 250 

The  Vigil  of  St.  Mark 251 

A  Deed  of  Darkness 253 

The  Cast-away  Ship 254 

The  Sequel 255 

A  Night  in  a  Stage  Coach  ;  hcing  a  Meditation  on  the 

way  between  London  and  Bristol 250 

The  Reign  of  Spring 257 

The  Reign  of  Summer 258 

Ahdallah  and  Sabat 262 

The  Stronger  and  his  Friend 264 

The  Adventure  of  a  Star :  addressed  to  a  Young  Lady  264 

The  Band  and  the  Rock 206 

The  Chronicle  of  Angels 267 

Elijah  in  the  'Wilderness 271 

Morna 272 

Perils  by  the  Heathen 274 

TRAXSLATIOXS  FROM  DANTE. 

Ugolino  and  Ruggieri 276 

Maestro  Adamo 277 

Dante  and  Beatrice 279 

The  River  of  Life 279 

The  Portal  of  Hell 2S0 

Anteus 281 

Cain 2S1 

Farinata 282 

SONGS  ON  THE  ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY 
IN  THE  BRITISH  COLONIES. 

No.  1.  — The  Rainbow 2S4 

Xo.  II.— The  Xegro  is  free 284 

Xo.  III.  — Slavery  that  was 248 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

No.  IV.  —  Slavery  that  is  not 285 

No.  V.  — The  Negro's  Vigil  on  the  Eve  of  the  First  of 

August,  1834 285 

VERSES  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  LATE  RICHARD 
REYNOLDS,  OF  BRISTOL. 

Introduction 286 

I.— The  Death  of  the  Righteous 289 

II.  — The  Memory  of  the  Just 290 

III.  — A  Good  Man's  Monument 291 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Grave 293 

The  Lyre 294 

Remonstrance  to  Winter 295 

Song 296 

Lines  written  under  a  Drawing  of  Yardley  Oak,  cele- 
brated by  Cowper 296 

Song  written  for  a  Society  whose  Motto  was  "  Friend- 
ship, Love,  and  Truth" 297 

Religion 297 

'The  Joy  of  Grief" 298 

The  Battle  of  Alexandria 299 

The  Pillow 300 

Verses  to  the  Memory  of  the  Late  Joseph  Browne,  of 

Lothersdale,  one  of  the  people  called  Quakers 302 

The  Thunder-storm 303 

Ode  to  the  Volunteers  of  Britain,  on  the  Prospect  of 

invasion 303 

Hannah 305 

A  Field  Flower:  on  finding  one  in  full  bloom  on 

Christmas  Day,  1803 305 

The  Snow-drop 306 

The  Ocean 307 

The  Common  Lot 309 

The  Harp  of  Sorrow 310 

Pope's  Willow 310 

A  Walk  in  Spring 311 

The  Swiss  Cowherd's  Song  in  a  Foreign  Land ;  imita- 
ted from  the  French 313 

The  Oak:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Metastasio 314 

The  Dial 314 

The  Roses :  addressed  to  a  Friend  on  the  Birth  of  his 

First  Child 314 

To  Agnes 315 

An  Epitaph 315 

The  Old  Man's  Song 315 

The  Glow-worm 316 

Bolehill  Trees 316 

The  Mole-hill 317 

M.  S.    To  the  Memory  of  "  A  Female  whom  Sickness 

had  reconciled  to  the  Notes  of  Sorrow" 319 

The  Peak  Mountains 321 

To  Ann  and  Jane:  written  on  a  blank  leaf  of  "Hymns 

for  Infant  Minds" 323 

Occasional   Ode    for    the  Anniversary  of   the  Royal 

Britsh  System  of  Education 324 

A  Daughter  (C.  M.)  to  her  Mother,  on  her  Birthday 324 


Page 
Chatterton:  on  reading  the  verses  entitled  "Resigna- 
tion," a  few  days  before  his  melancholy  end 325 

The  Wild  Rose :  on  plucking  one  late  in  the  month  of 

October 326 

On  finding  the  Feathers  of  a  Linnet  scattered  on  the 

Ground  in  a  solitary  Walk 327 

Sonnet:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  P.  Salandri:  To 

a  Bride 328 

Sonnet:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Petrarch 328 

Sonnet:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Gaetana  Passerini 

On  the  Siege  of  Genoa  by  the  French  Army  in  1684  328 
Sonnet:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Benedetto  dall' 

Uva:  On  the  Siege  of  Famagusta,  in  the  Island  of 

Cyprus,  by  the  Turks,  in  1571 329 

Departed  Days:  a  Rhapsody 329 

Hope :  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Serafino  Aquilano  331 

A  Mother's  Love 331 

The  Time-piece 332 

Stanzas  to  the  Memory  of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Spencer,  of 

Liverpool,  who  was  drowned  while  bathing 233 

Human  Life 334 

The  Visible  Creation 33S 

Sonnet,  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Gaetana  Passerini  335 
Sonnet,  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Giambattista  Cotta  33S 
Sonnet:  The  Crucifixion:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of 

Crescimbeni 336 

The  Bible 33G 

Instruction 336 

The  Christian  Soldier :  occasioned  by  the  sudden  Death 

of  the  Rev.  Thomas  Taylor 337 

On  the  Royal  Infant,  still-born  Nov.  5, 1817 337 

A  Midnight  Thought 337 

Incognita;  on  viewing  the  Picture  of  an  Unknown  Lady  338 

The  little  Cloud 339 

The  Alps:  a  Reverie 341 

Questions  and  Answers 343 

Youth  renewed 343 

The  Bridal  and  the  Burial 344 

Friends 344 

A   Mother's    lament    on    the    Death    of   her    Infant 

Daughter 344 

The  Widow  and  the  Fatherless 345 

The  Daisy  in  India 345 

The  Drought:  written  in  the  Summer  of  1S26 346 

A  Sea  Piece 347 

Robert  Burns 348 

A  Theme  for  a  Poet 348 

Night 350 

Meet  again! 350 

A'ia  Cruris,  Via  Lucis 351 

The  Pilgrim 351 

German  War-Song 351 

Reminiscences 352 

The  Ages  of  Man 352 

Aspirations  of  Youth 352 

A  Hermitage 353 


CONTEXTS. 


Tage 

The  falling  leaf 353 

On  planting  a  Tulip-root 353 

Inscription  under  the  Picture  of  an  aged  Negro-woman  354 

Thoughts  and  Images 355 

A  Voyage  round  the  World 355 

Birds 358 

Time:  a  Rhapsody 301 

To  a  Friend,  with  a  copy  of  the  foregoing 302 

A  lucid  Interval 362 

Worms  and  Flowers 

The  Recluse 363 

The  Retreat 364 

Speed  the  Prow 3G5 

The  Sky-lark 866 

The  Fixed  Stars 366 

The  Lily 367 

The  Gentianella 307 

The  Sun-flower 367 

Winter-lightning 368 

Humility 3GS 

Evening  Time 368 

Reminiscence 368 

A  Recollection  of  Mary  F 369 

The  Cholera  Mount 369 

The  Tombs  of  the  Fathers 371 

A  Cry  from  South  Africa 373 

To  my  Friend  George  Bonnet,  Esq.,  of  Sheffield 373 

Stanzas  in  Memory  of  the  Rev.  James  Harvey,  of  Wes- 
ton Favell.  Northamptonshire 375 

One  Warning  more:  written  for  distribution  on  a  Race- 
course  375 

The  Veil 376 

A  Riddle 376 

On  a  Watch-pocket "70 

To  Cynthia 377 

For  .T.  S. :  a  Preamble  to  her  Album 377 

To  Margaret,  a  little  Girl  who  begged  to  have  some 

Verses 3"*> 

On  the  first  Leaf  of  Miss  J.'s  Album 37S 

To  Mary 3"8 

Short-hand 3"9 

The  Blank  Leaf 3"9 

The  Gnat "9 

An  Infaut's  Album 379 


Page 

A  Wedding  Wish 380 

Motto  to  "  a  Poet's  Portfolio."    (Fragment  of  a  Page 

of  Oblivion) 3S0 

The  Valentine  Wreath 381 

The  Widow 381 

In  Memory  of  E.  B..  formerly  E.  R 382 

In  Memory  of  E.  G 382 

Garden  Thoughts 383 

To   Mr.    and   Mrs.  T.,   of  York,    with    the   foregoing 

Stanzas 884 

Farewell  to  a  missionary 384 

The  Lot  of  the  Righteous 884 

A  Benediction  for  a  Baby 385 

"Occupy  till  1  conic:''  on  the  Death  of  Joseph  Butter- 
worth,  Esq 386 

A  Message  from  the  Moon 

The  Purple  Beech:  on  planting  a  Tree  at  the  Mount, 
near  Sheffield,  in  presence  of  the  resident  Families  387 

Franklin,  the  Printer,  Philosopher,  and  Patriot :;s7 

The  Press 387 

The  Grasshopper 389 

Emblems 391 

Coronation  Ode  for  Queen  Victoria 881 

Westminster  Abbey  on  the  Twenty-eighth  of  June,  1838  892 

A  Bridal  Benison 392 

The  Blackbird 392 

The  Myrtle  393 

Dale  Abbey 393 

The  Wild  Pink 884 

Transmigrations 395 

Sonnet:  imitated  from  the  Italian  of  Gabriello  Fiam- 

ma:  On  the  Sepulture  of  Christ 39C 

Sonnet:   from  the  Italian  of  QiOTambattista   Zappi: 
On  Judith  returning  to  Bcthulia  with  the  Head  of 

Iloloferncs  in  her  hand 396 

Sonnet:  from  the  Italian  of  Eustachio  Manfredi :  For 

a  Nun,  on  taking  the  Veil 396 

Sonnet:  from  Petrarch 

"A  certain   Disciple:"  on   the  Portrait  of  the  Rev. 

W.  M 397 

Stanzas  on  the  Death  of  the  late  Rev.  Thomas  Rawson 

Taylor,  of  Bradford,  in  Yorkshire 398 

Stanzas  in  Memory  of  Rowland  Hodgson,  Esq.,  of  Shef- 
field  398 


the 


POETICAL   WORKS 


JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND 


A  POEM,  IX  SIX  PARTS. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  Wanderer  of  Switzerland  and  other  Poems 
appeared  in  the  spring  of  1S06.  The  volume  hail 
been  leisurely  printed  in  the  Iris  Newspaper  Office, 
when  the  occasional  want  of  better  employment  for 
the  types  afforded  opportunity.  It  was  begun  with- 
out any  definite  aim,  continued  without  a  hope 
worth  a  fear  of  disappointment,  and  completed  at 
the  hazard  of  proving  as  ephemeral  as  the  ordinary 
issues  from  the  same  press.  Most  of  the  contents 
were  composed  during  this  slow  process.  The  lead- 
ing poem  itself  was  so  produced,  and  substituted 
for  one  of  a  very  different  character,  the  sheets  of 
which  were  cancelled  to  make  room  for  it.  Had 
this  timely  sacrifice  of  a  favourite  piece  of  juvenile 
extravagance  not  been  made,  it  is  hardly  to  be  ima- 
gined that  the  speculation  would  have  been  other 
than  a  failure,  though  several  of  the  smaller  effu- 
sions, under  the  signature  of  Alcceus,  having  found 
admission  into  the  Poetical  Register  of  preceding 
years,  had  attracted  honourable  notice  from  critics, 
whose  praise  would  have  been  sufficient,  upon  minds 
less  depressed  than  the  author's,  to  act  as  "Fame," 

"The  spur  that  the  clear  spirit  doth  raise, 
To  scorn  delights  aud  live  laborious  clays." 

Milton's  Lycidas. 
The  immediate  origin  of  the  first  poem    in  the 
series   was   purely   incidental.     And    here,  having 
3 


good  precedents,  even  in  this  fastidious  age,  to  avoid 
the  idle  circumlocution  of  telling  a  plain  tale  of 
one's  self  in  the  third  person,  I  shall  venture  here- 
after to  use  simple  egotism  in  such  preliminary  re- 
marks as  a  few  of  the  following  compositions  may 
seem  to  warrant. 

In  the  year  1798  the  independence  of  Switzer- 
land bad  been  virtually  destroyed  by  France,  though 
till  1803,  the  cantons  were  nominally  allowed  to 
exercise  home-jurisdiction.  Boneparte  then  inter- 
fered, and  urged  them  to  form  "  a  constitution  for 
the  security  of  both  countries ;"— the  wolf  urging 
the  Iamb  to  frame  a  league  for  the  equal  security  of 
the  fold  and  the  den  !  On  the  13th  of  January,  in 
the  year  last  mentioned,  the  following  paragraph 
was  given  in  my  Weekly  Recapitulation  of  Facts 
and  Humours:  —  "In  his  letter  to  the  Swiss  depu- 
ties, Bonaparte  demands  an  entire  sacrifice  of  all 
their  factions  and  selfish  passions,  and  in  the  same 
breath  he  sets  them  a  noble  example  of  disinterested 
moderation,  by  peremptorily  declaring,  that  he  will 
not  permit  the  establishment  of  any  kind  of  govern- 
ment in  the  cantons,  which  may  be  hostile  to  his 
own,  for  Switzerland  must  in  future  be  the  open 
frontier  of  France."  The  law  of  the  strongest  of 
course  prevailed,  and  the  mountains  were  compelled 
to  pass  under  the  yoke ;  but  of  the  brave  moun- 
taineers, multitudes,  scorning  submission,  began 
immediately  to  emigrate  to  the  neighbouring  coun- 

(33) 


tries,  but  more  especially  to  America,  whither,  it  was 
said  at  the  time,  thousands  had  transported  them- 
selves ami  their  families  into  voluntary  exile,  with 
the  view  of  establishing  a  Swiss  colony  in  some 
unoccupied  part  of  the  far  west.  On  the  17th  of 
February,  this  circumstance  was  thus  recorded, 
under  the  head  above  mentioned,  in  the  Iria :  — 
"The  heart  of  Switzerland  is  broken;  and  Liberty 
has  been  driven  from  the  only  sanctuary  which  she 
had  found  on  the  Continent.  But  the  unconquered, 
the  unconquerable  offspring  of  Tell,  disdaining  to 
die  slaves  in  the  land  where  they  were  born  free, 
are  emigrating  to  America.  There,  in  some  region 
remote  and  romantic,  where  Solitude  has  never  seen 
the  face  of  man,  nor  Silence  been  startled  by  his 
voice,  since  the  hour  of  creation,  may  the  illustrious 
exiles  find  another  Switzerland,  another  country 
rendered  dear  to  them  by  the  presence  of  Liberty. 
But  even  there,  amidst  mountains  more  awful,  and 
forests  more  sombre  than  his  own,  when  the  echoes 
of  the  wilderness  shall  be  awakened  by  the  enchant- 
ment of  that  song  which  no  Swiss  in  a  foreign  clime 
ever  hears  without  fondly  recalling  the  land  of  bis 
nativity,  and  weeping  with  affection,  how  will  the 
heart  of  the  exile  be  wrung  with  home-sickness  ! 
and  oh!  what  a  sickness  of  heart  must  thai  be, 
which  arises  not  from  '  hope  deferred,'  but  from  '  hope 
extinguiehedf  —  yet  remembered  ! '  " 

A  friend,  on  reading  these  lines,  said,  "You 
should  write  a  poem  on  the  subject ;  it  is  a  fine  one." 
I  answered,  "It  might  be  made  the  burden  of  a 
ballad;"  —  the  idea  instantly  springing  up.  that  a 
metrical  dialogue,  after  the  manner,  and  about  the 
length,  of  the  well-known  fragmentary  canto  of 
"It  was  a  friar  of  orders  grey,"  Ac,  would  he  a  (it 
medium  to  comprise  and  communicate  the  senti- 
ments of  the  paragraph.  The  thought  followed  me, 
till  I  was  compelled  to  turn  round  and  follow  it. 
The  first  part  of  the  "Wanderer  of  Switzerland  was 
then  struck  out,  at  a  heat,  and  shown  to  my  adviser  : 
he  approved  of  it,  and  encouraged  me  to  proceed. 
The  phantom,  however,  flitted  before  me  from  one 
unexpected  change  in  the  plan  to  another,  till,  as  I 
proceeded,  taking  the  course  that  opened,  rather 
than  that  which  had  been  premeditated,  I  was 
carried  so  far  beyond  the  original  conception,  thai 
the  sole  point  which  was  aimed  at  in  the  commence- 
ment was  the  hist  that  could  be  attained,  at  the 
close  of  the  poem;  for  though  I  never  lost  sight 
of  that  object  in  the  wildest  discursion  by  the  way, 


it  continued  to  recede  as  I  pressed  onward  to 
approach  it,  like  one  of  the  Alpine  peaks  in  the 
scene  of  the  Song,  resting,  when  first  discovered, 
on  the  apparently  near  ring  of  the  horizon,  yet  not  to 
be  reached  till  all  the  valleys,  lakes,  and  eminenceH 
bitwim,  in  Men  among  tli . lr  own  intersections  had 
been  painfully,  and  step  by  step,  traversed. 

The  remaining  contents  of  the  volume  were 
chiefly  melancholy  ruminations  on  personal  sorrows 
and  troubles,  in  which  I  had  few  to  sympathise,  and 
none  to  console;  for,  though  these  were,  externally, 
the  obvious  consequences  of  youthful  follies  and 
misfortunes  (see  the  General  Preface),  the  main 
causes  of  my  unexplained  malady  lay  far  deeper, 
and  were  identified  with  the  conditions  on  which 
life  itself  was  held  by  the  sufferer.  These  morbid 
symptoms  of  a  "mind  diseased"  were  too  tempting 
not  to  expose  the  compositions  that  betrayed  them 
and  their  author  to  the  heartless  sarcasms  of  those 
critical  inquisitors,  who,  in  the  exuberance  of  self- 
complacency,  delight  to  torment  the  miserable,  when 
it  can  be  done  wisely — that  is,  with  impunity.  The 
unpretending  volume,  however,  thus  cast  upon  the 
world,  met  with  such  early  and  fostering  favour 
among  strangers  of  another  class,  that  the  first 
edition  of  five  hundred  copies  only  being  soon 
exhausted,  my  liberal  booksellers,  Messrs.  Longman 
and  Co.,  adopted  the  foundling  work,  and  pub- 
lished a  second  of  double  that  number  ;  which  going 
off  as  quickly  as  the  former,  they  issued  a  third 
impression  of  two  thousand  copies  within  a  few 
months  of  its  first  appearance.  Then  came  a  check 
which  threatened  nothing  less  than  annihilation  to 
my  labours  and  my  hopes.  The  Edinburgh  Review 
of  January,  1*07,  denounced  the  unfortunate  volume 
in  a  style  of  such  authoritative  reprobation  as 
no  mortal  verse  could  he  expected  to  survive. 
Reviewers  may  be  infallible  in  their  critical  judg- 
meets,  —  and  in  their  own  courts  they  are  so,  of 
coarse. — but  when  the  most  sagacious  of  them  turn 
prophets,  they  show  that  they  have  as  little  claim 
to  that  character  as  poets  themselves  have,  in  these 
degenerate  days,  when  it  can  no  longer  be  said,  as 

of  old,  that 

"  the  sacred  name 

Of  poet  and  of  prophet  is  the  same.'' 

The  writer  of  the  article  alluded  to  was  pleased  to 
say,  in  his  plural  capacity,  "  We  are  perfectly  per- 
suaded, that,  in  less  than  three  years,  nobody  will 
know  the  name  of  the  Wanderer  of  Switzerland,  or 


T1IK  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


35 


of  any  other  of  the  poems  in  this  collection;" — a 
prognostic  as  true,  probably,  as  any  tiling  else  in  the 
entire  paper]  and  worthy,  it  must  be  confessed,  of 
honourable  mention,  on  the  appearance,  in  the 
present  series,  of  a  thirteenth  edition  of  the  same 
poems,  three  and  thirty  years  after  they  had  been 
left  for  execution,  in  less  than  a  tenth  of  the  time 
which  has  elapsed  since  the  sentence  of  oblivion  was 
recorded.  Of  this,  the  critic  himself  may  have 
had  some  second-sighted  anticipation,  when,  within 
eighteen  months  from  the  utterance  of  this  oracle, 
a.  fourth  impression  (1500  copies)  of  the  condemned 
volume  was  passing  through  the  press  whence  the 
Edinburgh  Review  itself  was  issued;  while,  for 
several  years  afterwards,  successive  editions  of  that 
and  other  works  from  the  same  excommunicated 
quarter,  were  printed  by  Messrs.  James  Ballantyne 
and  Co.  And  all  these  "feeble  outrages"  were 
committed,  notwithstanding  the  tender  mercy  of  the 
reviewer  toward  the  culprit,  so  amiably  exemplified 
in  his  forbearance  to  do  justice,  till  the  third  offence 
became  "  too  alarming  to  be  passed  over,"  accord- 
ing to  the  following  very  frank  acknowledgment  in 
the  preamble  to  the  critique :  — 

"We  took  compassion  upon  Mr.  Montgomery, 
on  his  first  appearance,  conceiving  him  to  he  some 
slender  youth  of  seventeen,  intoxicated  with  weak 
tea,  and  the  praises  of  sentimental  ensigns,  and  other 
provincial  literati,  and  tempted,  in  that  situation,  to 
commit  a  feeble  outrage  on  the  public,  of  which  the 
recollection  would  bo  a  sufficient  punishment.  A 
third  edition,  however,  is  too  alarming  to  be  passed 
over  in  silence;  and  though  we  are  perfectly  per- 
suaded, that,  in  less  than  three  years,  nobody  will 
know  the  name  of  the  Wanderer  of  Switzerland,  or 
of  any  of  the  other  poems  in  this  collection,  still  wo 
think  ourselves  called  upon  to  interfere,  to  prevent, 
in  as  far  as  in  us  lies,  the  mischief  that  may  arise 
from  the  intermediate  prevalence  of  so  distressing 
an  epidemic.  It  is  hard  to  say  what  numbers  of 
ingenuous  youth  may  be  led  to  expose  themselves  in 
public,  by  the  success  of  this  performance,  or  what 
addition  may  be  made  in  a  few  months  to  that  great 
sinking  fund  of  bad  taste,  which  is  daily  wearing 
down  the  debt  which  we  have  so  long  owed  to  the 
classical  writers  of  antiquity." — Edinburgh  fieri,  w, 
No.  XVIII.  January,  1807. 

When  a  giant  of  twenty-horse  power  undertakes 
"To  break  a  butterfly  upon  n  wheel," 


it  is  ten  to  one  but  he  misses  his  aim,  and  stuns  his 
own  arm  by  the  violence  of  the  first  stroke;  while 
the  silly  insect  flits  away,  to  the  delight  of,  "it  is 
hard  to  say,  what  number  of  ingenuous  youth,"  who 
have  been  "led  to  expose  themselves  in  public,"  on 
so  august  an  occasion,  irreverently  shouting, — 

"Judex  damnotur  cum  nocens  absolvitur." 

Publics  Stetjs. 


***  The  historical  facts  alluded  to  in  the  following 
narrative  may  be  found  in  the  Supplement  to 
Coxe's  Travels  in  Switzerland,  Plnnta's  History 
of  the  Helvetic  Confederacy,  and  Zschohhe's  Inva- 
sion of  Switzerland  by  the  French  in  1798,  trans- 
lated by  Dr.  Aikin. 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 

PART   I. 

A  Wanderer  of  Switzerland  and  his  Family,  consist- 
ing of  lils  Wife,  his  Daughter,  and  Iter  young 
Children,  emigrating  from  their  Country,  in  conse- 
ij  n< -nee  of  its  Subjugation  by  the  French,  in  1798, 
arrive  at  the  Cottage  of  a  Shepherd,  beyond  the 
Frontiers,  where  they  are  hospitably  entertained. 

Shep.    "Wanderer,  whither  dost  thou  roam? 
Weary  wanderer,  old  and  grey  ; 
Wherefore  hast  thou  left  thine  home 
In  the  sunset  of  thy  day?" 

Wanderer.  "  In  the  sunset  of  my  day, 
Stranger,  I  have  lost  my  home : 
Weary,  wandering,  old  and  grey, 
Therefore,  therefore  do  I  roam. 

Here  mine  arms  a  wife  enfold, 
Fainting  in  their  weak  embrace; 
There  my  daughter's  charms  behold, 
Withering  in  that  widow'd  face. 

These  her  infants, —  0  their  Sire, 
Worthy  of  the  race  of  TELL, 
In  the  battle's  fiercest  fire, 
—  In  his  country's  battle  fell!" 

Shep.    "Switzerland  then  gave  thee  birth?" 
Wand.  "Ay — 'twas  Switzerland  of  yore; 

Hut,  degraded  spot  of  earth  ! 

Thou  art  Switzerland  no  more : 


36 


THE  AYAXDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


Part  I. 


O'er  thy  mountain?,  sunk  in  blood, 
Are  the  waves  of  ruin  hmTd  ; 
Like  the  waters  of  the  flood 
Rolling  round  a  buried  world." 

Shep.    "  Yet  will  Time  the  deluge  stop : 
Then  may  Switzerland  be  blest : 
On  St.  Gothard's  '  hoary  top 
Shall  the  Ark  of  Freedom  rest." 

Wand.  "  No  !  —  Irreparably  lost, 

On  the  day  that  made  us  slaves, 
Freedom's  Ark,  by  tempest  tost, 
Founder'd  in  the  swallowing  waves." 

Shep.    "Welcome,  Wanderer  as  thou  art, 
All  my  blessings  to  partake; 
Yet  thrice  welcome  to  my  heart, 
For  thine  injured  country's  sake. 

On  the  western  hills  afar 
Evening  lingers  with  delight, 
While  she  views  her  favourite  star 
Brightening  on  the  brow  of  night. 

Here,  though  lowly  be  my  lot, 
Enter  freely,  freely  share 
All  the  comforts  of  my  cot, 
Humble  shelter,  homely  fare. 

Spouse  !  I  bring  a  suffering  guest, 
With  his  family  of  grief; 
Give  the  weary  pilgrims  rest, 
Yield  the  Exiles  sweet  relief." 

Shep.'s  Wife.  "  I  will  yield  them  sweet  relief : 
Weary  pilgrims  !  welcome  here  ; 
Welcome,  family  of  grief! 
Welcome  to  my  warmest  cheer." 

Wand.  "  When  in  prayer  the  broken  heart 
Asks  a  blessing  from  above, 
Heaven  shall  take  the  Wanderer's  part, 
Heaven  reward  the  stranger's  love." 

Shep.    "  Haste,  recruit  the  failing  fire, 
High  the  winter-faggots  raise  : 


See  the  crackling  flames  aspire; 
0  how  cheerfully  they  blaze ! 

Mourners  ?  now  forget  your  cares, 
And,  till  supper-board  be  crown'd, 
Closely  draw  your  fire-side  chairs ; 
Form  the  dear  domestic  round." 

Wand.  "  Host !  thy  smiling  daughters  bring, 
Bring  those  rosy  lads  of  thine  : 
Let  them  mingle  iu  the  ring 
With  these  poor  lost  babes  of  mine." 

She}}.    "  Join  the  ring,  my  girls  and  boys; 
This  enchanting  circle,  this 
Binds  the  social  loves  and  joys; 
'Tis  the  fairy  ring  of  bliss '." 

• 
Wand.  "  0  ye  loves  and  joys  !  that  sport 
In  the  fairy  ring  of  bliss, 
Oft  with  me  ye  held  your  court; 
I  had  once  a  home  like  this  ! 

Bountiful  my  former  lot 
As  my  native  country's  rills; 
The  foundations  of  my  cot 
Were  her  everlasting  hills. 

But  those  streams  no  longer  pour 
Rich  abundance  round  my  lands; 
And  my  father's  cot  no  more 
On  my  father's  mountain  stands. 

By  a  hundred  winters  piled, 
When  the  Glaciers,2  dark  with  death, 
Hang  o'er  precipices  wild, 
Hang  —  suspended  by  a  breath  : 

If  a  pulse  but  throb  alarm, 
Headlong  down  the  steeps  they  fall ; 
—  For  a  pulse  will  break  the  charm, — 
Bounding,  bursting,  burying  all. 

Struck  with  horror,  stiff  and  pale, 
When  the  chaos  breaks  on  high, 
All  that  view  it  from  the  vale, 
All  that  hear  it  coming,  die  :  — 


i  St  Gotiiakd  is  the  name  of  the  highest  mountain 
in  the  canton  of  Uiu,  the  birth-place  of  Swiss  indepen- 
dence. ._ 

2  More  properlv  the  ATAIAHCHKS;  immense  accumula- 
tions of  ice  and  snow,  balanced  on  the  verge  of  the  moun- 


tains in  such  subtle  suspend,  that,  in  the  opinion  of  the 
native*.  the  tread  of  the  traveller  may  hring  then  down  in 
destruction  upon  him.  The  cucif.rs  are  more  eennanent 
masses  of  ire.  and  formed  rather  in  the  valleys  than  on  the 
summits  of  the  Alps. 


Part  II.                                     THE  WANDERER 

OF  SWITZERLAND.                                                37 

In  a  day  and  hour  accurst, 

Not  the  pangs  of  'Hope  deferr'd' 

O'er  the  wretched  land  of  TELL, 

My  tormented  bosom  tear  :— 

Thus  the  Gallic  ruin  burst, 

On  the  tomb  of  hope  interr'd 

Thus  the  Gallic  glacier  fell !" 

Scowls  the  spectre  of  Despair. 

Shcp.   "Hush  that  melancholy  strain; 

Where  the  Alpine  summits  rise, 

Wipe  those  unavailing  tears:" 

Height  o'er  height  stupendous  hurl'd; 

Wand.  "Nay  —  I  must,  I  will  complain; 

Like  the  pillars  of  the  skies, 

'T  is  the  privilege  of  years : 

Like  the  ramparts  of  the  world  : 

f  'T  is  the  privilege  of  Woe, 

Born  in  Freedom's  eagle  nest, 

Thus  her  anguish  to  impart : 

Rock'd  by  whirlwinds  in  their  rage, 

And  the  tears  that  freely  flow 

Nursed  at  Freedom's  stormy  breast, 

Ease  the  agonizing  heart." 

Lived  my  sires  from  age  to  age. 

She}}.   "Yet  suspend  thy  griefs  awhile : 

High  o'er  Underwalden's  vale, 

See  the  plenteous  table  crown'd ; 

Where  the  forest  fronts  the  morn  ; 

And  my  wife's  endearing  smile 

Whence  the  boundless  eye  might  sail 

Beams  a  rosy  welcome  round. 

O'er  a  sea  of  mountains  borne; 

Cheese  from  mountain-dairies  prest, 

There  my  little  native  cot 

Wholesome  herbs,  nutritious  roots, 

Peep'd  upon  my  father's  farm:  — 

Honey  from  the  wild-bee's  nest, 

Oh  !  it  was  a  happy  spot, 

Cheering  wine  and  ripen'd  fruits  : 

Rich  in  every  rural  charm  ! 

These,  with  soul-sustaining  bread, 

There  my  life,  a  silent  stream, 

My  paternal  fields  afford  :  — 

Glid  along,  yet  seem'd  at  rest; 

On  such  fare  our  fathers  fed ; 

Lovely  as  an  infant's  dream 

Hoary  pilgrim  !  bless  the  board." 

On  the  waking  mother's  breast. 

Till  the  storm  that  wreck'd  the  world, 

PART   II. 

In  its  horrible  career, 

Into  hopeless  ruin  hurl'd 

After  supper,  tlie  Wanderer,  at  the  desire  of  Ids  host, 

All  this  aching  heart  held  dear. 

relates  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  his   Country, 

during  the  Invasion   and    Conquest   of  it    by  the 

On  the  princely  towers  of  Berne 

French,  in  connection  with  his  own  Story. 

Fell  the  Gallic  thunder-stroke  : 

To  the  Lake  of  poor  Lucerne, 

Shep.  "Wanderer!  bow'd  with  griefs  and  years, 

All  submitted  to  the  yoke. 

Wanderer,  with  the  cheek  so  pale, 

0  give  language  to  those  tears ! 

Reding  then  his  standard  raised, 

Tell  their  melancholy  tale." 

Drew  his  sword  on  Brunnen's  plain ;  ' 

But  in  vain  his  banner  blazed, 

Wand.  "Stranger-friend,  the  tears  that  flow 

Reding  drew  his  sword  in  vain. 

Down  the  channels  of  this  cheek 

Tell  a  mystery  of  woe 

Where  our  conquering  fathers  died; 

Which  no  human  tongue  can  speak. 

Where  their  awful  bones  repose; 

1  Brunxe.v,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  on  the  borders 

nold  of  Melchtal  in  Underwalden,  conspired  against  the 

of  the  lake  of  Cri,  where  the  first  Swiss  Patriots,  Walter 

tyranny  of  Austria  in  1307,  again,  in  1798,  became  the  seat 

Fcrst  of  Uri,  Werner  Stauffacher  of  Schwitz,  and  Ar- 

of  the  Diet  of  these  three  forest  cantons. 

38 


THE  WANDERER  OE  SWITZERLAND. 


Part  II. 


Thrice  the  battle's  fate  he  tried, 
Thrice  o'erthrew  his  country's  foes.1 

Happy  then  were  those  who  fell 
Fighting  on  their  fathers'  graves  ! 
Wretched  those  who  lived  to  tell, 
Treason  made  the  victors  slaves  !2 

Thus  my  country's  life  retired, 
Slowly  driven  from  part  to  part, 
Underwaldkn  last  expired, 
Uxderwalden  was  the  heart.3 

In  the  valley  of  their  birth, 
Where  our  guardian  mountains  stand; 
In  the  eye  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Met  the  warriors  of  our  land. 

Like  their  Sires  in  olden  time, 
Arm'd  they  met  in  stern  debate; 
While  in  every  breast  sublime 
Glow'd  the  Spout  of  the  State. 

Gallia's  menace  fired  their  blood; 
With  one  heart  and  voice  they  rose  : 
Hand  in  hand  the  heroes  stood, 
And  defied  their  faithless  foes. 

Then  to  Heaven,  in  calm  despair, 
As  they  turn'd  the  tearless  eye, 
By  their  country's  wrongs  they  sware 
With  their  country's  rights  to  die. 

Albert  from  the  council  came : 
(My  poor  daughter  was  his  wife; 
All  the  valley  lov'd  his  name  ; 
Albert  was  my  staff  of  life.) 


i  On  the  plains  of  Morgarthen,  where  the  Swiss  gained 
their  first  decisive  victory  over  the  force  of  Austria,  and 
thereby  secured  the  independence  of  their  country;  Aloys 
BJSDD.8,  at  the  head  of  the  troops  of  the  little  cantons,  L  r.i, 
ScnwiTZ,  and  Underwalden,  repeatedly  repulsed  the  invad- 
ing army  of  France. 

J  By  the  resistance  of  these  small  cantons,  the  French 
General.  Schawbotoorc*,  was  compelled  to  respect  their  in- 
dependence, and  gave  them  a  solemn  pledge  to  that  purport ; 
hut  no  sooner  had  they  disarmed,  on  the  faith  of  this  en- 
gagement, than  the  enemy  came  suddenly  upon  them  with 
an  immense  force;  and  with  threats  of  extermination  com- 
pelled them  to  take  the  civic  oath  to  the  new  constitution, 
imposed  upon  all  Switzerland. 

3  The  inhabitants  of  the  Lower  Valley  of  Underwalden 
alone  resisted  the  French  message,  which  required  submis- 
sion to  the  new  constitution,  and  the  immediate  surrender, 
alive  or  dead,  of  nine  of  their  leaders.    When  the  demand, 


From  the  council-field  he  came  ; 
All  his  noble  visage  burn'd  : 
At  his  look  I  caught  the  flame, 
At  his  voice  my  youth  return'd. 

Fire  from  Heaven  my  heart  renew'd; 
Vigour  beat  through  every  vein  : 
All  the  powers  that  age  had  hew'd, 
Started  into  strength  again. 

Sudden  from  my  couch  I  sprang, 
Every  limb  to  life  restored; 
With  the  bound  my  cottage  rang, 
As  I  snatch'd  my  father's  sword. 

This  the  weapon  they  did  wield, 
On  MORGARTHEN's  dreadful  day; 
And  through  SempAChV  iron  field 
This  the  ploughshare  of  their  way. 

Then,  my  Spouse!  in  vain  thy  fears 
Strove  my  fury  to  restrain ; 
0  my  daughter!  all  thy  tears, 
All  thy  children's,  were  in  vain. 

Quickly  from  our  hastening  foes, 
Albert's  active  care  removed, 
Far  amidst  the  eternal  snows. 
These  who  loved  us,— these  beloved.6 

Then  our  cottage  we  forsook  ; 
Yet,  as  down  the  steeps  we  pass'd, 
Many  an  agonizing  look 
Homeward  o'er  the  hills  we  cast. 

Now  we  reach'd  the  nether  glen, 
Where  in  arms  our  brethren  lay; 


accompanied  by  a  menace  of  destruction,  was  read  in  the 
Assembly  of  the  District,  all  the  men  of  the  Valley,  fifteen 
hundred  In  number,  took  up  arms,  and  devoted  themselves 
to  perish  in  the  ruins  of  their  country. 

4  At  the  battle  of  SEMPACH,  the  Austrians  presented  so 
impenetrable  a  front  with  their  projected  spears,  that  the 
Swiss  were  repeatedly  compelled  to  retire  from  the  attack, 
till  a  native  of  I'xkkrwu.den,  named  Arnold  df.  YVinkel- 
bbd,  commending  his  family  to  his  countrymen,  - 
upon  the  enemy,  and,  burying  as  many  of  their  spears  as 
he  could  grasp  in  his  body,  made  a  breach  in  their  line: 
the  Swiss  rushed  in,  and  routed  the  Austrians  with  a  ter- 
rible slaughter. 

&  Many  of  the  Vni>f,rw.u.ders,  on  the  approach  of  the 
French  army,  removed  their  families  and  cattle  among  the 
Higher  Alps;  and  themselves  returned  to  join  their  breth- 
ren, who  bad  encamped  in  their  native  Valley,  on  the  bor- 
ders of  the  Lake,  and  awaited  the  attack  of  the  euemy. 


Part  III. 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


39 


Thrice  five  hundred  fearless  men, 

Then  the  mountain-echoes  rang 

Men  of  adamant  were  they  ! 

With  the  clangour  of  alarms: 

Shrill  the  signal-trumpet  sang; 

Nature's  bulwarks,  built  by  Time, 

All  our  warriors  leap'd  to  arms. 

'Gainst  Eternity  to  stand. 

Mountains  terribly  sublime, 

On  the  margin  of  the  flood, 

Girt  the  camp  on  either  band. 

While  the  frantic  foe  drew  nigh; 

Grim  as  watching  wolves  we  stood, 

Dim,  behind,  the  valley  brake 

Prompt  as  eagles  stretch'd  to  fly. 

Into  rocks  that  fled  from  view  ; 

Fair  in  front  the  gleaming  Lake 

In  a  deluge  upon  land 

Roll'd  its  waters  bright  and  blue. 

Burst  their  overwhelming  might ; 

Back  we  hurl'd  them  from  the  strand, 

'Midst  the  hamlets  of  the  dale, 

Oft  returning  to  the  fight. 

Stantz  ',  with  simple  grandeur  crown'd, 

Seem'd  the  Mother  of  the  vale, 

Fierce  and  long  the  combat  held ; 

With  her  children  seattcr'd  round. 

■ — Till  the  waves  were  warm  with  blood, 

Till  the  booming  waters  swell'd 

'Midst  the  ruins  of  the  dale, 

As  they  sank  beneath  the  flood.2 

Now  she  bows  her  hoary  head, 

Like  the  Widow  of  the  vale 

For,  on  that  triumphant  day, 

Weeping  o'er  her  offspring  dead. 

Underwalden's  arms  once  more 

Broke  Oppression's  black  array, 

Happier  then  had  been  her  fate, 

Dash'd  invasion  from  her  shore. 

Ere  she  fell  by  such  a  foe, 

Had  an  earthquake  sunk  her  state, 

Gaul's  surviving  barks  retired, 

Or  the  lightning  laid  her  low  !" 

Muttering  vengeance  as  they  fled  : 

Hope,  in  us,  by  Conquest  fired, 

Shep.   "By  the  lightning's  deadly  flash, 

Raised  our  spirits  from  the  dead. 

Would  her  foes  had  been  consumed ! 

Or  amidst  the  earthquake's  crash, 

From  the  dead  our  spirits  rose, 

Suddenly,  alive,  entomb'd! 

To  the  dead  they  soon  return'd ; 

Bright,  on  its  eternal  close, 

Why  did  justice  not  prevail?" 

Underwalden's  glory  burn'd. 

Wand.  "Ah!  it  was  not  thus  to  be!" 

Shep.  — "  Man  of  grief,  pursue  thy  tale 

Star  of  Switzerland  !  whose  rays 

To  the  death  of  Liberty." 

Shed  such  sweet  expiring  light, 

Ere  the  Gallic  comet's  blaze 

PART    III. 

Swept  thy  beauty  into  night;  — 

The  Wanderer  continues  his  Narrative,  and  describes 

Star  of  Switzerland  !  thy  fame 

the  Battle  and  Massacre  of  Under walden. 

No  recording  Bard  hath  sung; 

Yet  be  thine  immortal  name 

Wand.  "From  the  valley  we  descried, 

Inspiration  to  my  tongue  !  3 

As  the  Gauls  approach'd  our  shores, 

Keels  that  darken'd  all  the  tide, 

While  the  lingering  moon  delay'd 

Tempesting  the  Lake  with  oars. 

In  the  wilderness  of  night, 

i  The  Capital  of  Underwalden. 

s  In  the  last  and  decisive  battle,  the  Underwalders  were 

2  The  French  made  their  first  attack  on  the  Valley  of 

overpowered  by  two  French  armies,  which  rushed  upon 

Unterwalden  from  the  bake;  but,  after  a  desperate  conflict. 

tbem  from  the  opposite  mountains,  and  surrounded  their 

they  were  victoriously  repelled,  and  two  of  their  vessels. 

camp,  while  an  assault,  at  the  same  time,  was  made  upoD 

containing  five  hundred  men.  perished  in  the  engagement. 

them  from  the  Lake. 

40 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


Part  III. 


Ere  the  morn  awoke  tbc  shade 
Into  loveliness  and  light;  — 

Gallia's  tigers,  wild  for  blood, 
Darted  on  our  sleeping  fold; 
Down  the  mountains,  o'er  the  flood, 
Dark  as  thunder-clouds  they  roll'd. 

By  the  trumpet's  voice  alarm'd, 
All  the  valley  hurst  awake; 
All  were  in  a  moment  arm'd, 
Prom  the  harriers  to  the  lake. 

—  In  that  valley,  on  that  shore, 
When  the  graves  give  up  their  dead, 
At  the  trumpet's  voice  once  more 
Shall  those  slumberers  quit  their  bed. 

For  the  glen  that  gave  them  birth 
Hides  their  ashes  in  its  womb  : 
0  !  'tis  venerable  earth, 
Freedom's  cradle,  Freedom's  tomb. 

Then  on  every  side  begun 
That  unutterable  fight; 
Never  rose  the  astonish'd  sun 
On  so  horrible  a  sight. 

Once  an  eagle  of  the  rock 
('Twas  an  omen  of  our  fate) 
Stoop'd,  and  from  my  scatter'd  flock 
Bore  a  lambkin  to  his  mate. 

While  the  Parents  fed  their  young. 
Lo  !  a  cloud  of  vultures  lean, 
By  voracious  famine  stung, 
Wildly  screaming  rush'd  between. 

Fiercely  fought  the  eagle-twain, 
Though  by  multitudes  opprest, 
Till  their  little  ones  were  slain, 
Till  they  perish'd  on  their  nest. 

More  unequal  was  the  fray 
Which  our  baud  of  brethren  waged 
More  insatiate  o'er  their  prey 
Gael's  remorseless  vultures  raged. 


Iu  innumerable  waves, 
Swoln  with  fury,  grim  with  blood, 
Headlong  roll'd  the  hordes  of  slaves, 
And  ingulph'd  us  with  a  flood. 

In  the  whirlpool  of  that  flood, 
Firm  iu  fortitude  divine, 
Like  the  eternal  rocks  we  stood 
In  the  cataract  of  the  Rhine.1 

Till  by  tenfold  force  assail'd, 

In  a  hurricane  of  fire, 

When  at  length  our  phalanx  fail'U, 

Then  our  courage  blazed  the  higher. 

Broken  into  feeble  bands, 
Fighting  in  dissever'd  parts, 
Weak  and  weaker  grew  our  hands, 
Strong  and  stronger  still  our  hearts. 

Fierce  amid  the  loud  alarms, 
Shouting  in  the  foremost  fray, 
Children  raised  their  little  arms 
In  their  country's  evil  day. 

On  their  country's  dying  bed, 
Wives  and  husbands  pour'd  their  breath 
Many  a  Youth  and  Maiden  bled, 
Married  at  thine  altar,  Death.2 

Widely  scatter'd  o'er  the  plain, 
Bloodier  still  the  battle  grew  :  — 
0  ye  Spirits  of  the  slain, 
Slain  on  those  your  prowess  slew  ! 

Who  shall  now  your  deeds  relate  ? 
Ye  that  fell  unwept,  unknown  ; 
Mourning  for  your  country's  fate, 
But  rejoicing  in  your  own! 

Virtue,  valour,  nought  avail'd 
With  so  merciless  a  foe; 
When  the  nerves  of  heroes  fail'd, 
Cowards  then  could  strike  a  blow. 

Cold  and  keen  the  assassin's  blade 
Smote  the  Father  to  the  ground; 


i  At  Schaffitausen.—  See  Coxe's  Travels, 
a  Tn  this  miserable  conflict,  many  of  the  Women  anil 
Children  of  the  Undekwalpeks  fought   iu   the   rank*  by 


their  Husbands,  and  Fathers,  and  Friends,  and  fell  glo- 
riously for  their  country. 


Part  IV.                                     THE  WANDERER 

OF  SWITZERLAND.                                                41 

Through  the  infant's  breast  convey'd 

Time  their  triumphs  shall  proclaim, 

To  the  mother's  heart  a  wound.1 

And  their  rich  reward  be  this, — 

Underwalden  thus  expired ; 
But  at  her  expiring  flame, 

Immortality  of  fame, 
Immortality  of  bliss." 

With  fraternal  feeling  fired, 
Lo  !  a  band  of  Switzeus  came.5 

Shep.    "On  that  melancholy  plain, 
In  that  conflict  of  despair, 

From  the  steeps  beyond  the  lake, 
Like  a  Winter's  weight  of  snow, 

How  was  noble  Albert  slain  ? 
How  didst  thou,  old  Warrior,  fare  ? 

Wrhen  the  huge  Lavanges  break, 
Devastating  all  below  ; 3 

Wand.  "In  the  agony  of  strife, 

Where  the  heart  of  battle  bled, 

Down  they  rush'd  with  headlong  might, 

Where  his  country  lost  her  life, 

Swifter  than  the  panting  wind  ; 

Glorious  Albert  bow'd  his  head. 

All  before  them  fear  and  flight; 
Death  and  silence  all  behind. 

When  our  phalanx  broke  away, 

And  our  stoutest  soldiers  fell, 

How  the  forest  of  the  foe 

—  Where  the  dark  rocks  dimm'd  the  day, 

Bow'd  before  their  thunder  strokes, 

Scowling  o'er  the  deepest  dell ; 

When  they  laid  the  cedars  low, 
When  they  overwhelm'd  the  oaks  ! 

There,  like  lions  old  in  blood, 
Lions  rallying  round  their  den, 

Thus  they  hcw'd  their  dreadful  way  ; 

Albert  and  his  warriors  stood  ; 

Till,  by  numbers  forced  to  yield, 

Wo  were  few,  but  we  were  men. 

Terrible  in  death  they  lay, 
The  Avengers  op  the  Field." 

Breast  to  breast  we  fought  the  ground, 
Arm  to  arm  repell'd  the  foe  : 

Every  motion  was  a  wound, 

PART    IV. 

And  a  death  was  every  blow. 

The    Wanderer  relates  the   Circumstances  attending 

Thus  the  clouds  of  sunset  beam 

the  Death  of  Albert. 

Wanner  with  expiring  light ; 

Shep.    "Pledge  the  memory  of  the  Brave, 
And  the  Spirits  of  the  dead : 

Thus  autumnal  meteors  stream 
Redder  through  the  darkening  night. 

Pledge  the  venerable  Grave, 

Miracles  our  champions  wrought — 

Valour's  consecrated  bed. 

Who  their  dying  deeds  shall  tell? 

Wanderer !  cheer  thy  drooping  soul ; 
This  inspiring  goblet  take; 

0,  how  gloriously  they  fought! 
How  triumphantly  they  fell ! 

Drain  the  deep  delicious  bowl, 

One  by  one  gave  up  the  ghost, 

For  thy  martyr'd  brethren's  sake." 

Slain,  not  conquer'd, —  they  died  free. 

Wand.  "Hail !  —  all  hail !  the  Patriot's  grave, 
Valour's  venerable  bed  : 

Albert  stood, — himself  an  host : 
Last  of  all  the  Swiss  was  he. 

Hail !  the  memory  of  the  Brave  ; 

So,  when  night,  with  rising  shade, 

Hail !  the  Spirits  of  the  dead. 

Climbs  the  Alps  from  steep  to  steep, 

i  An  indiscriminate  massacre  followed  the  battle. 

3  The  Lavaxges  are  tremendous  torrents  of  melting  snow, 

2  Two  hundred  self-devoted  heroes  from  the  canton  of 

that  tumble  from  the  tops  of  the  Alps,  and  deluge  all  the 

Switz  arrived,  at  the  close  of  the  battle,  to  the  aid  of  their 

country  before  them. 

Brethren  of  Underwalden, —  and  perished  to  a  man,  after 

having  slain  thrice  their  number. 

-12 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


Part  IV. 


Till  in  hoary  gloom  array'd 

All  the  giant-mountains  sleep  — 

High  in  heaven  their  monarch1  stands 
Bright  and  beateous   from  afar, 
Shining  into  distant  lands 
Like  a  new-created  star. 

While  I  struggled  through  the  fight, 
Albert  was  my  sword  and  shield ; 
Till  strange  horror  queneh'd  my  sight, 
And  I  fainted  on  the  field. 

Slow  awakening  from  that  trance, 
When  my  soul  return'd  to  day, 
Vanish'd  were  the  fiends  of  France, 
—  But  in  ALBERT'S  blood  I  lay. 

Slain  for  me,  his  dearest  breath 
On  my  lips  he  did  resign  ; 
Slain  for  me,  he  snateh'd  his  death 
From  the  blow  that  menaced  mine. 

'lie  had  raised  his  dying  head, 
And  was  gazing  on  my  face  ; 
As  I  woke, —  the  spirit  fled, 
But  I  felt  his  last  embrace." 

Shep.  "  Man  of  suffering!  such  a  tale 

Would  wring  tears  from  marble  eyes ! " 
Wand.  "  Ha  !  my  daughter's  cheek  grows  pale  ! " 
W.'»  Wife.  "  Help,  0  help  !  my  daughter  dies  !  " 

Wand.  "Calm  thy  transports,  0  my  wife! 

Peace  for  these  dear  orphans'  sake !" 
W.'i  Wife.  "  0  my  joy,  my  hope,  my  life, 

0  my  child,  my  child,  awake!" 

Wand.  "  God  !  0  God,  whose  goodness  gives  ; 

God  !  whose  wisdom  takes  away  ; 

Spare  my  child  ! " 

,v/,,7,. "  She  lives,  she  lives  ! " 

Wand.  "Lives?— my  daughter,  didst  thou  say  ? 

Gon  Almighty,  on  my  knees, 
In  the  dust  will  I  adore 


i  Mont  Blanc;  which  is  so  much  higher  than  the  sur- 
rounding Alps,  that  i'  catchi  e  and  retains  the  beams  of  the 
sub  twenty  minulti  earlier  and  later  than  they,  and,  crowned 


Thine  unsearchable  decrees; 

—  She  was  dead  :  —  she  lives  once  more  !'' 

W.'i  Dtr.  "When  poor  Albert  died,  no  prayer 
Call'd  him  back  to  hated  life ; 
0  that  I  had  perish'd  there, 
Xot  his  widow,  but  his  wife  !" 

Wand.  "  Dare  my  daughter  thus  repine  ? 
Albert!  answer  from  above: 
Tell  me, —  are  these  infants  thine, 
Whom  their  mother  does  not  love?" 

W.'i  Dtr.  "Does  not  love!  — my  fathcr,hear! 

Hear  me,  or  my  heart  will  break  : 

Dear  is  life,  but  only  dear 

For  my  parents',  children's  sake. 

Bow'd  to  Heaven's  mysterious  will, 
I  am  worthy  yet  of  you; 
Yes  !  — I  am  a  mother  still, 
Though  I  feel  a  widow  too." 

Wain!.  "Mother,  Widow   Mourner,  all, 

All  kind  names  in  one, —  my  child  ; 
On  thy  faithful  neck  I  fall: 
Kiss  me, —  arc  we  reconciled?" 

W.s'Dtr.  "Yes,  to  Albert  I  appeal  :  — 
Albert,  answer  from  above, 
That  my  father's  breast  may  feel 
All  his  daughter's  heart  of  love." 

Shep.'a  Wife.  "Faint  and  way-worn  as  they  be 
With  the  day's  long  journey,  Sire, 
Let  thy  pilgrim  family 
Now  with  me  to  rest  retire." 

)\'(oid.  "  Yes,  the  hour  invites  to  sleep  ; 
Till  the  morrow  we  must  part: 
—  Nay,  my  daughter,  do  not  weep, 
Do  not  weep  and  break  my  heart. 

Sorrow-soothing  sweet  repose 
On  your  peaceful  pillows  light; 
Angel-hands  your  eyelids  close; 
Dream  of  Paradise  to-night." 

with  eternal  ice.  may  be  seen  from  an  immense  distance, 
purpling  with  hiseastemlight,orcrinisonedwtthbis  < 
jrlory.  while  mist  una  obscurity  rest  on  the  mount  sine  I 


Part  V. 


THE  WANDERUB  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


PART    V. 
The  Wanderer,  being  left  alone  with  the  Shepherd, 
relates  hie  Adventures  after  the  Baltic  of  Uhder- 
waldi  a. 

Sin  p.   '•  When  the  good  man  yields  his  breath 
(Fur  the  good  man  never  dies), 
Bright  beyond  the  gulf  of  death, 
Lo  !  the  land  of  promise  lies. 

Peace  to  Albert's  awful  shade, 
In  that  land  where  sorrows  cease  ; 
And  to  Albert's  ashes,  laid 
In  the  earth's  cold  bosom,  peace." 

Wand.  "On  the  fatal  field  I  lay 

Till  the  hour  when  twilight  pale, 
Like  the  ghost  of  dying  day, 
Wander'd  down  the  darkening  vale. 

Then  in  agony  I  rose, 
And  with  horror  look'd  around, 
Where  embracing,  friends  and  foes, 
Dead  and  dying,  strew'd  the  ground. 

JIany  a  widow  fix'd  her  eye, 
Weeping  where  her  husband  bled, 
Heedless  though  her  babe  was  by, 
Prattling  to  his  father  dead. 

Many  a  mother,  in  despair 
Turning  up  the  ghastly  slain, 
Sought  her  son,  her  hero,  there, 
Whom  she  long'd  to  seek  in  vain. 

Dark  the  evening-shadows  roll'd 
On  the  eye  that  gleam'd  in  death ; 
And  the  evening-dews  fell  cold 
On  the  lip  that  gasp'd  for  breath. 

As  I  gazed,  an  ancient  dame, 
—  She  was  childless  by  her  look, — 
With  refreshing  cordials  came; 
Of  her  bounty  I  partook. 

Then,  with  desperation  bold, 
Albert's  precious  corpse  I  bore 
On  these  shoulders  weak  and  old, 
Eow'd  with  misery  before. 


Albert's  angel  gave  me  strength, 
As  I  stagger'd  down  the  glen  : 
And  I  hid  my  charge  at  length 
In  its  wildest,  deepest  den. 

Then  returning  through  the  shade 
To  the  battle-scene,  I  sought, 
'Mongst  the  slain,  an  axe  and  spade:  — 
With  such  weapons  Freemen  fought. 

Scythes  for  swords  our  youth  did  wield 
In  that  execrable  strife; 
Ploughshares  in  that  horrid  field 
Pled  with  slaughter,  breathed  with  life. 

In  a  dark  and  lonely  cave, 
While  the  glimmering  moon  arose, 
Thus  I  dug  my  Albert's  grave; 
There  his  hallow'd  limbs  repose. 

Tears  then,  tears  too  long  represt, 
Gush'd  :  —  they  fell  like  healing  balm, 
Till  the  whirlwind  in  my  breast 
Died  into  a  dreary  calm. 

On  the  fresh  earth's  humid  bed, 
Where  my  martyr  lay  enshrined, 
This  forlorn,  unhappy  head, 
Crazed  with  anguish,  I  reclined. 

But  while  o'er  my  weary  ej'es 
Soothing  slumbers  seem'd  to  creep, 
Forth  I  sprang,  with  strange  surprise, 
From  the  clasping  arms  of  sleep. 

For  the  bones  of  Albert  dead 
Heaved  the  turf  with  horrid  throes, 
And  his  grave  beneath  my  head 
Burst  asunder;  —  Albert  rose! 

'Ha!  my  Son  —  my  Son,'  I  cried, 
'Wherefore  hast  thou  left  thy  grave?' 
—  'Fly,  my  father,' — he  replied; 
'Save  my  wife  —  my  children  save.' — 

In  the  passing  of  a  breath 
This  tremendous  scene  was  o'er: 
Darkness  shut  the  gates  of  Death, 
Silence  seal'd  them  as  before. 


44                                                THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND.                                      Part  V. 

One  pale  moment  fix'd  I  stood 
In  astonishment  severe; 
Horror  petrified  my  blood, — 
I  was  wither'd  up  with  fear. 

On  that  plain,  in  rosy  youth, 
They  had  fed  their  fathers'  flocks, 
Told  their  love,  and  pledged  their  truth, 
In  the  shadow  of  those  rocks. 

Then  a  sudden  trembling  came 
O'er  my  limbs ;  I  felt  on  fire, 
Burning,  quivering  like  a  flame 
In  the  instant  to  expire." 

There,  with  shepherd's  pipe  and  song, 
In  the  merry  mingling  danco, 
Once  they  led  their  brides  along, 
Now! Perdition  seize  thee,  France!" 

Slup.   "Rather  like  the  mountain-oak, 
Tempest-shaken,  rooted  fast, 
Grasping  strength  from  every  stroke, 
While  it  wrestles  with  the  blast." 

Shep.   "Heard  not  Heaven  the  accusing  cries 
Of  the  blood  that  smoked  around, 
While  the  life-warm  sacrifice 
Palpitated  on  the  ground?" 

Wand.  "Ay  !  —  my  heart,  unwont  to  yield, 
Quickly  quell'd  the  strange  affright, 
And  undaunted  o'er  the  field 
I  began  my  lonely  flight. 

Wand.  "Wrath  in  silence  heaps  his  store, 
To  confound  the  guilty  foe; 
But  the  thunder  will  not  roar 
Till  the  flash  has  struck  the  blow. 

Loud  the  gusty  night-wind  blew;  — 
Many  an  awful  pause  between, 
Fits  of  light  and  darkness  flew, 
Wild  and  sudden  o'er  the  scene. 

Vengeance,  Vengeance  will  not  stay  ; 
It  shall  burst  on  Gallia's  head, 
Sudden  as  the  judgment-day 
To  the  unexpecting  dead. 

For  the  moon's  resplendent  eye 
Gleams  of  transient  glory  shed; 
And  the  clouds,  athwart  the  sky, 
Like  a  routed  army  fled. 

From  the  Revolution's  flood 
Shall  a  fiery  dragon  start; 
He  shall  drink  his  mother's  blood, 
He  shall  eat  his  father's  heart. 

Sounds  and  voices  fill'd  the  vale, 
Heard  alternate  loud  and  low; 
Shouts  of  victory  awell'd  the  gale, 
But  the  breezes  murmur'd  woe. 

Nurst  by  Anarchy  and  Crime, 

He but  distance  mocks  my  sight, 

0  thou  great  avenger,  TIME  ! 
Bring  thy  strangest  birth  to  light." 

As  I  elimb'd  the  mountain's  side, 
Where  the  Lake  and  Valley  meet, 
All  my  country's  power  and  pride 
Lay  in  ruins  at  my  feet. 

Shep.  "Prophet)  thou  bast  spoken  well, 
And  I  deem  thy  words  divine : 
Now  the  mournful  sequel  tell 
Of  thy  country's  woes  and  thine." 

On  that  grim  and  ghastly  plain, 
Inderwalden's  heart-strings  broke, 
When  she  saw  her  heroes  slain, 
And  her  rocks  receive  the  yoke. 

Wand.  "Though  the  moon's  bewilder'd  bark, 
By  the  midnight  tempest  tost, 
In  a  sea  of  vapours  dark, 
In  a  gulf  of  clouds  was  lost; 

On  that  plain,  in  childhood's  hours, 
From  their  mothers'  arms  set  free, 
Oft  those  heroes  gather'd  flowers, 
Often  chased  the  wandering  bee. 

Still  my  journey  I  pursued, 
Climbing  many  a  weary  steep, 
Whence  the  closing  scene  I  view'd 
With  an  eye  that  would  not  weep. 

Part  VI.                                    THE  WANDERER  OP  SWITZERLAND.                                                45 

Stantz —  a  melancholy  pyre  — 

Realms  of  mountains,  dark  with  woods, 

And  her  hamlets  blazed  behind, 

In  Columbia's  bosom  lie. 

With  ten  thousand  tongues  of  fire, 

Writhing,  raging  in  the  wind.1 

There,  in  glens  and  caverns  rude, 

Flaming  piles,  where'er  I  turn'd, 

Silent  since  the  world  began, 
Dwells  the  virgin  Solitude, 

Cast  a  grim  and  dreadful  light; 
Like  funereal  lamps  they  burn'd 

Unbetray'd  by  faithless  man; 

In  the  sepulchre  of  night ; 

Where  a  tyrant  never  trod, 

While  the  red  illumined  flood, 

Where  a  slave  was  never  known, 
But  where  Nature  worships  God 

With  a  hoarse  and  hollow  roar, 

In  the  wilderness  alone; 

Scem'd  a  lake  of  living  blood, 

Wildly  weltering  on  the  shore. 

—  Thither,  thither  would  I  roam  ; 

'Midst  the  mountains  far  away, 
Soon  I  spied  the  sacred  spot, 
Whence  a  slow  consuming  ray 

There  my  children  may  be  free ; 
I  for  them  will  find  a  home, 
They  shall  find  a  grave  for  me. 

Glimmer'd  from  my  native  cot. 

Though  my  fathers'  bones  afar 

At  the  sight  my  brain  was  fired, 
And  afresh  my  heart's  wounds  bled ; 
Still  I  gazed  : the  spark  expired  — 

In  their  native  land  repose, 
Yet  beneath  the  twilight  star 
Soft  on  mine  the  turf  shall  close. 

Nature  seem'd  extinct:  —  I  fled. — 

Though  the  mould  that  wraps  my  clay 

Fled  ;  and,  ere  the  noon  of  day, 
Reach'd  the  lonely  goat-herd's  nest, 
Where  my  wife,  my  children,  lay  — 

When  this  storm  of  life  is  o'er, 

Never  since  creation  lay 

On  a  human  breast  before  ;  — 

Ilusband  —  Father think  the  rest." 

Yet  in  sweet  communion  there, 

PART    VI. 

When  she  follows  to  the  dead, 
Shall  my  bosom's  partner  share 

The  Wanderer  informs  the  Shepherd,  that,  after  the 

Her  poor  husband's  lowly  bed. 

example  of  many  of  his  Countrymen  flying  from 
the  Tyranny  of  France,  it  is  his  intention  to  settle 

Albert's  babes  shall  deck  our  grave, 

in  some  remote  province  of  America. 

And  my  daughter's  duteous  tears 

Shep.   "  Wanderer,  whither  wouldst  thou  roam  ; 
To  what  region  far  away 

Bid  the  flowery  verdure  wave 
Through  the  winter-waste  of  years." 

Bend  thy  steps  to  find  a  home, 
In  the  twilight  of  thy  day  ?" 

Shep.   "  Long  before  thy  sun  descend, 

May  thy  woes  and  wanderings  cease  ; 

U'<!»'/.  "  In  the  twilight  of  my  day 
I  am  hastening  to  the  West ; 

Late  and  lovely  be  thine  end ; 
Hope  and  triumph,  joy  and  peace  ! 

There  my  weary  limbs  to  lay 
Where  the  sun  retires  to  rest. 

As  our  lakes,  at  day's  decline, 
Brighten  through  the  gathering  gloom, 

Far  beyond  the  Atlantic  floods, 
Stretch'd  beneath  the  evening  sky, 

May  thy  latest  moments  shine 
Through  the  night-fall  of  the  tomb." 

'  The  town   of   STANTZ,   and  the  surrounding  villages, 

Untif.rwai.dex,  and  the  beautiful  valley  was  converted  into 

were  burnt  by  the  French  on  the  night  alter  the  battle  of 

a  wilderness. 

46 


THE  WANDERER  OF  SWITZERLAND. 


Part  VI. 


Wand.  "Though  our  Parent  perish' d  hero, 
Like  the  Phoenix  on  her  nest, 
Lo  !  new-fledg'd  her  wings  appear, 
Hovering  in  the  golden  West. 

Thither  shall  her  sons  repair, 
And  heyond  the  roaring  main 
Find  their  native  country  there, 
Find  their  Switzerland  again. 

Mountains,  can  }*e  chain  the  will? 
Ocean,  canst  thou  quench  the  heart  ? 
No;  I  feel  my  country  still, 
LIBERTY  !  where'er  thou  art. 

Thus  it  was  in  hoary  time, 
When  our  fathers  sallied  forth, 
Full  of  confidence  sublime, 
From  the  famine-wasted  North.1 

'  Freedom,  in  a  land  of  rocks 
'Wild  as  Scandinavia,  give, 
'  Power  Eternal  !  —  where  our  flocks 
'  And  our  little  ones  may  live.' 

Thus  they  pray'd  :  —  a  secret  hand 
Led  them  by  a  path  unknown, 
To  that  dear  delightful  land 
Which  I  yet  must  call  my  own. 

To  the  vale   of  SwiTZ  they  came: 
Soon  their  meliorating  toil 
Gave  the  forests  to  the  flame, 
And  their  ashes  to  the  soil. 

Thence  their  ardent  labours  spread, 
Till  above  the  mountain-snows 
Towering  beauty  show'd  her  head, 
And  a  new  creation  rose  ! 

—  So,  in  regions  wild  and  wide 
We  will  pierce  the  savage  woods, 
Clothe  the  rocks  in  purple  pride, 
Plough  the  valleys,  tame  the  floods  ;  — 

1  There  is  a  tradition  among  the  Swiss,  that  they  are  dc- 
ed  from  the  ancient  Scandinavians;  among  whom,  in 
a  remote  age.  there  arose  so  grievous  a  famine,  that  it  was 
determined  in  the  Assembly  of  the  Nation,  that  every 
tenth  man  and  Ids  family  should  quit  their  country,  and 
seek  a  new  possession.  :-ix  thousand,  chosen  by  lot,  emi- 
grated at  once  from  the  North.    TTiey  ;  rayed  unto  God  to 


Till  a  beauteous  inland  isle, 
By  a  forest-sea  embraced, 
Shall  make  Desolation  smile 
In  the  depth  of  his  own  waste. 

There,  unenvied  and  unknown, 
We  shall  dwell  secure  and  free, 
In  a  country  all  our  own, 
In  a  land  of  Liberty." 

Shep.    "Yet  the  woods,  the  rocks,  the  streams, 
Unbeloved,  shall  bring  to  mind, 
Warm  with  Evening's  purple  beams. 
Dearer  objects  left  behind;  — 

And  thy  native  country's  song, 
Caroll'd  in  a  foreign  clime, 
When  new  echoes  shall  prolong, 
—  Simple,  tender,  aud  sublime;  — 

How  will  thy  poor  cheek  turn  pale, 
And,  before  thy  banish'd  eyes. 
Underwalden's  charming  vale, 
And  thine  own  sweet  cottage,  rise!" 

Wand.  "  By  the  glorious  ghost  of  TELL  ; 
By  Mouoaethen's  awful  fray: 
By  the  field  where  Albert  fell 
In  thy  last  and  bitter  day; 

Soul  of  Switzerland,  arise  ! 

■ Ha  !  the  spell  has  waked  the  dead  : 

From  her  ashes  to  the  skies 
Switzerland  exalts  her  head. 

See  the  Queen  of  Mountains  stand, 
In  immortal  mail  complete, 
With  the  lightning  in  her  hand. 
And  the  Alps  beneath  her  feet. 

Hark  !  her  voice  :  —  '  My  sons,  awake  : 
'Freedom  dawns,  behold  the  day: 
'From  the  bed  of  bondage  break, 
"Tis  your  Mother  calls,  —  obey.' 

conduct  them  to  a  land  like  their  own,  where  they  might 
dwell  in  freedom  and  quiet,  finding  food  for  their  families, 
and  pasture  for  their  cattle.  God,  says  the  tradition,  led 
them  1"  a  valley  amine:  the  Alps,  v.  here  they  cleared  away 
the  forests,  built  the  town  of  SniTz.  and  afterward 
pled  and  cultivated  the  cantons  of  Ur.i  and  UNKEBWALDes. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


47 


At  the  sound,  our  Fathers'  graves, 
On  each  ancient  battle-plain, 
Utter  groans,  and  toss  like  waves 
When  the  wild  blast  sweeps  the  main. 

Rise,  my  Brethren  :  cast  away 
All  the  chains  that  bind  you  slaves : 
Rise, — your  Mother's  voice  obey, 
And  appease  your  Fathers'  graves. 

Strike  !  —  the  conflict  is  begun  ; 
Freemen,  Soldiers,  follow  me. 
Shout!  —  the  victory  is  won, — 
Switzerland  and  Liberty  ! " 


Shep.   "Warrior,  Warrior,  stay  thine  ami  ! 

Sheathe,  oh  sheathe,  thy  frantic  sword!' 
)\'ainl.  "Ah  !  I  rave  —  I  faint:  —  the  charm 

Flies, and  memory  is  restored. 

Yes,  to  agony  restored, 

From  the  too  transporting  charm  :  — 

Sleep  for  ever,  0  my  sword  ! 

Be  thou  wither'd,  0  mine  arm  ! 

Switzerland  is  but  a  name  : 
— —Yet  I  feel,  where'er  I  roam, 
That  my  heart  is  still  the  same, 
Switzerland  is  still  my  home." 


THE   WEST   INDIES! 

A  POEM.  IN  FOUR  PARTS, 
WRITTEN    IN     HONOUR     OF     THE     ABOLITION     OF     THE     AFRICAN     SLAVE     TRADE, 

BY  Tin:  British  legislature,  in  1807. 


"Receive  him  for  ever;  not  now  as  a  servant,  but  above  a  servant. —  a  broBier  beloved." 

St.  Paul's  Epist.  to  Philemon,  v.  15, 16. 


PREFACE. 

I.N  the  spring  of  1807,  while  I  was  mourning  over 
what  Lord  Byron  has  been  pleased  to  call  my  "lost 
works,"  from  the  havoc  which  the  Edinburgh  Re- 
viewers have  made  of  them;  and  while  I  was  medi- 
tating how  I  might  indemnify  my  enterprising  Pub- 
lishers  for  the  waste  paper  of  two  thousand  copies, 
which  they  had  recently  issued  at  their  own  risk, — 
a  more  formidable  calamity  than  my  early  "blossoms 
perishing  before  the  northern  blast,"  overtook  me, 
which  threatened  destruction  to  hopes  more  reason- 
able, and  resting  upon  foundations  more  substantial 
than  castles  in  the  air,  which  may  be  upheld  by  a 
puff,  or  blown  down  with  a  breath. 

The  slow  but  sure  prosperity  of  my  newspaper 
met  with  a  cheek,  which  might  bring  upon  it  decay 
not  less  sure  and  much  less  slow  than  had  been  the 
gradual  ascendency  which  it   had  gained  through 


thirteen  years  of  patient  struggling  against  rival- 
ship,  hostility,  lukewarmness,  and  desertions,  as  the 
passions  and  prejudices  of  political  friends  or  anta- 
gonists fluctuated,  sometimes  in  favour,  sometimes 
against,  the  resolute  independence  of  principle,  and 
right  of  private  judgment,  which  I  had  always  main- 
tained. Ruin  both  of  fame  and  fortune  —  humble 
as  were  my  desires  in  regard  of  the  latter,  and  vain 
as  my  aspirations  after  the  former  bad  been  —  now 
seeemed  inevitable  to  one,  who,  from  the  unhappy 
experience  of  his  youth,  had  been  accustomed, 
under  the  serenest  aspect  of  the  passing  hour,  to 
look  forward  to  the  darkest  "shadows"  which 
"coming  events  east  before"  them. 

In  this  two-fold  dilemma,  since  misfortunes  seldom 
come  single,  and  expecting  a  long  brood  to  follow, 
I  was  giving  myself  up  to  despondency,  when 
I  received  a  letter  from  the  late  Mr.  Bowyer,  of 
Pall    Mall    (to   whom    I    was    an    entire    stranger), 


4S 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


announcing,  that  he  had  projected  a  splendid  me- 
morial of  the  recent  triumph  of  justice   and   hu- 
manity, in  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade  by  an 
Act    of    the  British   Legislature,  — in   a   series    of 
pictures,  representing  the  past   sufferings  and  the 
anticipated  blessings  of  the  long-wronged  and  late- 
righted  Africans,  both  in  their  own  land  and  in  the 
West  Indies.     The   engravings  from  these  designs 
were  to  be  accompanied  by  a  poem  illustrative  of 
the    subject.     This   he  very  courteously  requested 
me  to  contribute.     Soon  elated  as  soon  depressed, 
I   eagerly,   yet   tremblingly,   undertook   the   com- 
mission, for  I  could  not  help  doubting  the  wisdom 
of  Mr.  Bowyer's  choice  of  a  poet,  after  the  judgment 
which    had    been    passed    upon    my   recent    per- 
formances by  the  critical  infallibilities  of  my  own 
country.    But  the  prize  held  out  was  worth  an  effort 
at  any  peril  to  my  doubtful  reputation,  especially  as 
the  condemned  volume  had  been  more  graciously 
treated   by  the    censors   of  literature   in   the  land 
which  had  adopted  me  from  my  childhood,  than  in 
that  which  had  given  me  birth.    Wherefore,  having 
ever  since  I  penned  a  paragraph,  either  in  verse  or 
prose,  for  a  newspaper,  availed  myself  of  every  fair 
opportunity  to  expose  the  iniquities  and  abomina- 
tions of  the  Slave  Trade  and  Slavery,  I  gave  my 
whole  mind  to  the  theme.     It  haunted  me  day  and 
night,  in  the  house   and   in  the  field,  alone  or  in 
company  ;  however  engaged  in  business,  in  convers- 
ation, or  in  amusement,  the  process  of  thought  and 
of  composition  was   continually   in   exercise,  and, 
under  all  these  different  situations  and  incompatible 
circumstances,  portions   of  the   poem  were    either 
suggested,   elaborated,   or    suddenly,    not    to    say 
spontaneously,  produced.     This  fact  may  account 
for  a  certain  tone  of  earnestness  and  vehemence, 
pervading   many   passages,  which    a   friendly   but 
candid  critic  told  me  gave  to  the  versification  the 
character  of  loud  speaking.     Such  as  it  was,  how- 
ever, the  public  willingly  listened  and  sufficiently 
approved. 

Mr.  Bowyer,  meanwhile,  having  extended  his 
plan,  and,  instead  of  one  poem,  having  obtained 
three,  I  found  myself  honourably  associated  with  the 
late  James  Grahame,  Esq.  the  Author  of  The  Sabbath, 
and  Miss  Benger,  to  whom  our  national  literature 
is  indebted  for  several  valuable  works  in  history 
and  biography.  The  publication,  from  various  hin- 
derances  which  interfered,  did  not  take  place  till 
1809.     The    following   is   a   copy   of  the    Original 


Preface  to  my  portion  of  the  work,  entitled  "The 
ll'est  Indies,"  which  preceded  the  contributions  of 
Mr.  Grahame  and  Miss  Benger,  the  one  entitled 
"Africa  Delivered,"  and  the  other  "The  Abolition 
of  the  Slave  Trade." 
October  17, 1S40. 


THE    PUBLIC.     " 

This  poem  was  undertaken  at  the  request  of  Mr. 
Bowyer,  in  May,  1S07.    The  Author  had  not  the  re- 
solution to  forego  an  opportunity  of  being  presented 
before  the  public,  in  a  style  of  external  magnificence 
which  he  would  never  have  had  the  assurance  to 
assume  unsolicited.     Though  he  is  convinced  that, 
were  it  proper  to  explain  the  private  history  of  this 
work,  he  would  be  fully  acquitted  of  presumption  in 
having  accepted  the  splendid  invitation  of  the  pro- 
prietor, yet  he  cannot  help  feeling  that  an  appear- 
ance so  superb,  instead  of  prejudicing  the  public  in 
his  favour,  will,  in  reality,  only  render  him  more 
obvious  and  obnoxious  to  criticism,  if  he  be  found 
unworthy  of  the  situation  in  which  he  stands.    Con- 
scious, however,  that  he  has  exerted  his  utmost  dili- 
gence and  ability  to  do  honour  to  his  theme,  and  well 
aware  that  his  poem  can  derive  no  lustre  from  the 
accompanying  embellishments,  unless  it  first  casts 
a  glory  upon  them,  he  thinks  himself  warranted  to 
hope  that  it  will  be  read  and  judged  with  the  same 
indulgence,  which,  from  past  success,  he  believes  it 
would  have    experienced  had  it  been  produced  in 
a  form  more  becoming  his   pretensions   as  a  man 
and  a  writer. 

There  are  objections  against  the  title  and  plan  of 
this  piece,  which  will  occur  to  almost  every  reader. 
The  author  will  not  anticipate  them:  he  will  only 
observe,  that  the  title  seemed  the  best,  and  the  plan 
j  the  most  eligible,  which  he  could  adapt  to  a  subject 
i  so  various  and  excursive,  yet  so  familiar  and  ex- 
hausted, as    the  African  Slave  Trade,  — a  subject 
which  had  become  antiquated,  by  frequent,  minute, 
and  disgusting  exposure ;  which  afforded  no  oppor- 
tunity to    awaken,  suspend,  and  delight  curiosity, 
by  a"  subtle    and    surprising  development  of  plot; 
i  and   concerning   which,    public   feeling   had    been 
wearied  into  insensibility,  by  the  agony  of  interest 
which  the  question  excited,  during  three  and  twenty 


Part  I. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


49 


years  of  almost  incessant  discussion.  That  trade  is 
at  length  abolished.  May  its  memory  be  immortal, 
that  henceforth  it  may  be  known  only  by  its 
memory  ! 

Sheffield,  December  1, 1S08. 


THE  WEST  INDIES. 

PART     I. 

ARGUMENT. 

Introduction  :  on  the  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade. — 
The  Mariner's  Compass. —  Columbus.  —  The  Dis- 
covery of  America. —  The  West  Indian  Islands. — 
The  Charibs. —  Their  Extermination. 

"  Thy  chains  are  broken,  Africa,  be  free !" 
Thus  saith  the  island  empress  of  the  sea ; 
Thus  saith  Britannia.     0,  ye  winds  and  waves ! 
Waft  the  glad  tidings  to  the  land  of  slaves  ; 
Proclaim  on  Guinea's  coast,  by  Gambia's  side, 
And  far  as  Niger  rolls  his  eastern  tide,1 
Through  radiant  realms,  beneath  the  burning  zone, 
Where  Europe's  curse  is  felt,  her  name  unknown, 
Thus  saith  Britannia,  empress  of  the  sea, 
"  Thy  chains  are  broken,  Africa,  be  free  ! " 

Long  lay  the  ocean-paths  from  man  conceal'd; 
Light  came  from  heaven, — the  magnet  was  reveal'd, 
A  surer  star  to  guide  the  seamen's  eye 
Than  the  pale  glory  of  the  northern  sky ; 
Alike  ordain'd  to  shine  by  night  and  day, 
Through  calm  and  tempest,  with  unsetting  ray  ; 
Where'er  the  mountains  rise,  the  billows  roll, 
Still  with  strong  impulse  turning  to  the  pole, 
True  as  the  sun  is  to  the  morning  true, 
Though  light  as  film,  and  trembling  as  the  dew. 

Then  men  no  longer  plied  with  timid  oar, 
And  failing  heart,  along  the  windward  shore; 
Broad  to  the  sky  he  turn'd  his  fearless  sail, 
Defied  the  adverse,  woo'd  the  favouring  gale, 
Bared  to  the  storm  bis  adamantine  breast, 
Or  soft  on  ocean's  lap  lay  down  to  rest; 

1  Mungo  Park,  in  his  travels,  ascertained  that  "  the  great 
river  of  the  Negroes''  flows  eastward.  It  is  probable,  there- 
fore, that  this  river  is  either  lost  among  the  sands,  or 
4 


While,  free  as  clouds  the  liquid  ether  sweep, 

His  white-wing'd  vessels   coursed   the  unbounded 

deep; 
From  clime  to  clime  the  wanderer  loved  to  roam, 
The  waves  his  heritage,  the  world  his  home. 

Then  first  Columbus,  with  the  mighty  hand 
Of  grasping  genius,  weigh'd  the  sea  and  land; 
The  floods  o'erbalanced  :  —  where  the  tide  of  light, 
Day  after  day,  roll'd  down  the  gulph  of  night, 
There  seem'd  one  waste  of  waters  :  —  long  in  vain 
His  spirit  brooded  o'er  the  Atlantic  main  ; 
When,  sudden  as  creation  burst  from  nought, 
Sprang    a    new    world    through    his     stupendous 

thought, 
Light,  order,  beauty  ! — While  his  mind  explored 
The  unveiling  mystery,  his  heart  adored ; 
Where'er  sublime  imagination  trod, 
He  heard  the  voice,  he  saw  the  face,  of  God. 

Far  from  the  western  cliffs  he  cast  his  eye, 
O'er  the  wide  ocean  stretching  to  the  sky  ; 
In  calm  magnificence  the  sun  declined, 
And  left  a  paradise  of  clouds  behind : 
Proud  at  his  feet,  with  pomp  of  pearl  and  gold, 
The  billows  in  a  sea  of  glory  roll'd. 

"  —  Ah  !  on  this  sea  of  glory  might  I  sail, 
Track  the  bright  sun,  and  pierce  the  eternal  veil 
That  hides  those  lands,  beneath  Hesperian  skies, 
Where  daylight  sojourns  till  our  morrow  rise  !  " 

Thoughtful  he  wander'd  on  the  beach  alone ; 
Mild  o'er  the  deep  the  vesper  planet  shone, 
The  eye  of  evening,  brightening  through  the  west 
Till  the  sweet  moment  when  it  shut  to  rest : 
"Whither,  0  golden  Venus  !  art  thou  fled? 
Not  in  the  ocean-chambers  lies  thy  bed  ; 
Round  the  dim  world  thy  glittering  chariot  drawn 
Pursues  the  twilight,  or  precedes  the  dawn  ; 
Thy  beauty  noon  and  midnight  never  see, 
The  morn  and  eve  divide  the  year  with  thee. 

Soft  fell  the  shades,  till  Cynthia's  slender  bow 
Crested  the  farthest  wave,  then  sunk  below : 
"  Tell  me,  resplendent  guardian  of  the  night, 
Circling  the  sphere  in  thy  perennial  flight, 

empties  itself  into  some  inland  sea,  in  the  undiscovered 
regions  of  Africa.    See  also  page  52,  col.  2.  line  8. 


50 


THE    WEST  INDIES. 


Part  I 


AVhat  secret  path  of  heaven  thy  smiles  adorn, 
What  nameless  sea  reflects  thy  gleaming  horn  ?" 

Now  earth  and  ocean  vanish'd,  all  serene 
The  starry  firmament  alone  was  seen ; 
Through  the  slow,  silent  hours,  he  watch'd  the  host 
Of  midnight  suns  in  western  darkness  lost, 
Till  Night  himself,  on  shadowy  pinions  borne, 
Fled  o'er  the  mighty  waters,  and  the  morn 
Danced  on  the  mountains:  —  "Lights  of  heaven?" 

he  cried, 
"Lead  on;  —  I  go  to  win  a  glorious  bride; 
Fearless  o'er  gulphs  unknown  I  urge  my  way, 
Where  peril  prowls,  and  shipwreck  lurks  for  prey  : 
Hope  swells  my  sail ;  —  in  spirit  I  behold 
That  maiden-world,  twin-sister  of  the  old, 
By  nature  nursed  beyond  the  jealous  sea, 
Denied  to  ages,  but  betroth'd  to  me."  ' 

The  winds  were  prosperous,  and  the  billows  bore 
The  brave  adventurer  to  the  promised  shore ; 
Far  in  the  west,  array'd  in  purple  light, 
Dawn'd  the  new  world  on  his  enraptured  sight: 
Not  Adam,  loosen'd  from  the  encumbering  earth, 
Waked  by  the  breath  of  God  to  instant  birth, 
With  sweeter,  wilder  wonder  gazed  around, 
When  life  within,  and  light  without  he  found  ; 
When,  all  creation  rushing  o'er  his  soul, 
He  seem'd  to  live  and  breathe  throughout  the  whole. 
So  felt  Columbus,  when,  divinely  fair, 
At  the  last  look  of  resolute  despair, 
The  Hesperian  isles,  from  distance  dimly  blue, 
With  gradual  beauty  open'd  on  his  view. 
In  that  proud  moment,  his  transported  mind 
The  morning  and  the  evening  worlds  combined, 
And  made  the  sea,  that  sunder'd  them  before, 
A  bond  of  peace,  uniting  shore  to  shore. 

1  When  the  author  of  The  West  Indies  conceived  the  plan 
of  this  introduction  of  Columbus,  he  was  not  aware  that  he 
was  indebted  to  any  preceding  poet  for  a  hint  on  the  subject : 
but  some  time  afterwards,  on  a  second  perusal  of  Southet's 
Madoc,  it  struck  him  that  the  idea  of  Columbus  walking  on 
the  shore  at  sunset,  which  he  had  hitherto  imagined  his 
own,  might  he  only  a  reflection  of  the  impression  made  upon 
his  mind,  long  before,  hy  the  first  reading  of  the  following 
splendid  passage.  He  therefore  gladly  makes  this  acknow- 
ledgment, though  at  his  own  expense,  in  justice  to  the 
author  of  the  noblest  narrative  poem  in  the  English  lan- 
guage, after  the  Faerie  Queexe  and  Paradise  Lost. 

"  When  evening  came  toward  the  echoing  shore, 
I  and  Cadwallon  walk'd  together  forth : 
Bright  with  dilated  glory  shone  the  west ; 


Vain,  visionary  hope  !  rapacious  Spain 
Follow'd  her  hero's  triumph  o'er  the  main, 
Her  hardy  sons  in  fields  of  battle  tried, 
Where  Moor  and  Christian  desperately  died. 
A  rabid  race,  fantastically  bold, 
And  steel'd  to  cruelty  by  lust  of  gold, 
Traversed  the  waves,  the  unknown  world  explored, 
The  cross  their  standard,  but  their  faith  the  sword  ; 
Their  steps  were  graves;  o'er  prostrate  realms  they 

trod  ; 
They  worship'd  Mammon  while  they  vow'd  to  God. 

Let  nobler  bards  in  loftier  numbers  tell 
How  Cortez  conquer'd,  Montezuma  fell ; 
How  fierce  Pizarro's  ruffian  arm  o'erthrew 
The  snn's  resplendent  empire  in  Peru; 
How,  like  a  prophet,  old  Las  Casas  stood, 
And  raised  his  voice  against  a  sea  of  blood, 
Whose  chilling  waves  recoil'd  while  he  foretold 
His  country's  ruin  by  avenging  gold. 
—  That  gold,  for  which  unpitied  Indians  fell, 
That  gold,  at  once  the  snare  and  scourge  of  hell, 
Thenceforth  by  righteous  Heaven  was   doom'd   to 

shed 
Unmingled  curses  on  the  spoiler's  head; 
For  gold  the  Spaniard  cast  his  soul  away, — 
His  gold  and  he  were  every  nation's  prey. 

But  themes  like  these  would  ask  an  angel-lyre, 
Language  of  light  and  sentiment  of  fire; 
Give  me  to  sing,  in  melancholy  strains, 
Of  Charib  martyrdoms  and  Negro  chains; 
One  race  by  tyrants  rooted  from  the  earth, 
One  doom'd  to  slavery  by  the  taint  of  birth  ! 

Where  first  his  drooping  sails  Columbus  furl'd, 
And  sweetly  rested  in  another  world, 

But  brighter  lay  the  ocean  flood  below, 

The  burnish'd  silver  sea,  that  heaved  and  flash'd 

Its  restless  rays  intolerably  bright. 

'Prince ! '  quoth  Cadwallon, '  thou  hast  rode  the  waves 

In  triumph  when  the  Invader  felt  thine  arm. 

0  what  a  nobler  conquest  might  be  won 

There, —  upon  that  wide  field!' — 'What  meanest  thou?' 

1  cried  :  ■ — '  That  yonder  waters  are  not  spread 
A  boundless  waste,  a  bourne  impassable; 

That  thou  shouldst  rule  the  elements, —  that  there 
Might  manly  courage,  manly  wisdom,  find 
Some  happy  isle,  some  undiscover'd  shore, 
Some  resting-place  for  peace.    Oh!  that  my  soul 
Could  seize  the  wings  of  morning!  soon  would  I 
Behold  that  other  world,  where  yonder  sun 
Now  speeds  to  dawn  in  glory.' " 


Part  II. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


51 


Amidst  the  heaven-reflecting  ocean,  smiles 
A  constellation  of  elvsian  isles; 
Fair  as  Orion  when  he  mounts  on  high, 
Sparkling  with  midnight  splendour  from  the  sky  : 
They  bask  beneath  the  sun's  meridian  rays, 
When  not  a  shadow  breaks  the  boundless  blaze; 
The  breath  of  ocean  wanders  through  their  vales 
In  morning  breezes  and  in  evening  gales  : 
Earth  from  her  lap  perennial  verdure  pours, 
Ambrosial  fruits,  and  aramanthine  flowers; 
O'er  the  wild  mountains  and  luxuriant  plains, 
Nature  in  all  the  pomp  of  beauty  reigns, 
In  all  the  pride  of  freedom. —  Nature  free 
Proclaims  that  Max  was  born  for  liberty. 
She  flourishes  where'er  the  sunbeams  play 
O'er  living  fountains,  sallying  into  day  ; 
She  withers  where  the  waters  cease  to  roll, 
And  night  and  winter  stagnate  round  the  pole  : 
Man  too,  where  freedom's  beams  and  fountains  rise, 
Springs  from  the  dust,  and  blossoms  to  the  skies  ; 
Dead  to  the  joys  of  light  and  life,  the  slavo 
Clings  to  the  clod:  his  root  is  in  the  grave: 
Bondage  is  winter,  darkness,  death,  despair; 
Freedom  the  sun,  the  sea,  the  mountains,  and  the  air  ! 

In  placid  indolence  supinely  blest, 
A  feeble  race  these  beauteous  isles  possess'd : 
Untam'd,  untaught,  in  arts  and  arms  unskill'd, 
Their  patrimonial  soil  they  rudely  till'd. 
Chased  the  free  rovers  of  the  savage  wood, 
Insnared  the  wild-bird,  swept  the  scaly  flood; 
Shelter'd  in  lowly  huts  their  fragile  forms 
From  burning  suns  and  desolating  storms  ; 
Or  when  the  halcyon  sported  on  the  breeze, 
In  light  canoes  they  skimm'd  the  rippling  seas; 
Their  lives  in  dreams  of  soothing  languor  flew, 
No  parted  joys,  no  future  pains  they  knew, 
The  passing  moment  all  their  bliss  or  care; 
Such  as  their  sires  had  been  the  children  were, 
From  age  to  age ;  as  waves  upon  the  tide 
Of  stormless  time,  they  calmly  lived  and  died. 

Dreadful  as  hurricanes,  athwart  the  main 
Rush'd  the  fell  legions  of  invading  Spain  ; 
With  fraud  and  force,  with  false  and  fatal  breath, 
(Submission  bondage,  and  resistance  death,) 
They  swept  the  isles.     In  vain  the  simple  race 
Kneel'd  to  the  iron  sceptre  of  their  grace, 
Or  with  weak  arms  their  fiery  vengeance  braved; 
They  came,  they  saw,  they  conquer'd,  they  enslaved, 


And  they  destroy 'd  ; — the  generous  heart  they  broke, 
They  crush'd  the  timid  neck  beneath  the  yoke; 
Where'er  to  battle  march'd  their  fell  array, 
The  sword  of  conquest  plough'd  resistless  way  ; 
Where'er  from  cruel  toil  they  sought  repose, 
Around  the  fires  of  devastation  rose. 
The  Indian,  as  he  turn'd  his  head  in  flight, 
Beheld  his  cottage  flaming  through  the  night, 
And,  midst  the  shrieks  of  murder  on  the  wind, 
Heard  the  mute  bloodhound's  death-step  close  behind. 

The  conflict  o'er,  the  valiant  in  their  graves, 
The  wretched  remnant  dwindled  into  slaves; 
Condemn'd  in  pestilential  cells  to  pine, 
Delving  for  gold  amidst  the  gloomy  mine. 
The  sufferer,  sick  of  life-protracting  breath, 
Inhaled  with  joy  the  fire-damp  blast  of  death  : 

—  Condemn'd  to  fell  the  mountain-palm  on  high, 
That  cast  its  shadow  from  the  evening  sky, 

Ere  the  tree  trembled  to  his  feeble  stroke, 
The   woodman   languish'd,   and    his    heart-strings 
broke ; 

—  Condemn'd  in  torrid  noon,  with  palsied  hand, 
To  urge  the  slow  plough  o'er  the  obdurate  land, 
The  labourer,  smitten  by  the  sun's  quick  ray, 

A  corpse  along  the  unfinish'd  furrow  lay. 
O'erwhelm'd  at  length  with  ignominious  toil, 
Mingling  their  barren  ashes  with  the  soil, 
Down  to  the  dust  the  Charib  people  pass'd, 
Like  autumn  foliage  withering  in  the  blast: 
The  whole  race  sunk  beneath  the  oppressor's  rod, 
And  left  a  blank  among  the  works  of  God. 


PART   II. 

ARGUMENT. 

The  Cane.  — Africa.— The  Negro.— The  Slave- 
carrying  Trade. —  The  Means  and  Resources  of 
the  Slave  Trade. —  The  Portuguese,  —  Dutch, — 
Danes,  —  French, —  and  English,  in  America. 

Among  the  bowers  of  paradise,  that  graced 
Those  islands  of  the  world-dividing  waste, 
Where  towering  cocoas  waved  their  graceful  locks, 
And  vines  luxuriant  cluster'd  round  the  rocks; 
Where  orange-groves  perfum'd  the  circling  air, 
With  verdure,  flowers,  and  fruit  for  ever  fair; 
Gay  myrtle-foliage  track'd  the  winding  rills, 
And  cedar  forests  slumber'd  on  the  hills; 


52 


TIIE   WEST   INDIES. 


Part  II. 


—  An  eastern  plant,  ingrafted  on  the  soil,1 

Was  till'd  for  ages  with  consuming  toil ; 

No  tree  of  knowledge  with  forbidden  fruit, 

Death  in  the  taste,  and  ruin  at  the  root ; 

Yet  in  its  growth  were  good  and  evil  found,— 

It  blcss'd  the  planter,  but  it  curs'd  the  ground : 

While  with  vain  wealth  it  gorged  the  master's  hoard, 

And  spread  with  manna  his  luxurious  board, 

Its  culture  was  perdition  to  the  slave, — 

It  sapp'd  his  life,  and  flourish'd  on  his  grave. 

When  the  fierce  spoiler  from  remorseless  Spain 
Tasted  the  balmy  spirit  of  the  cane, 
(Already  had  his  rival  in  the  west 
From  the  rich  reed  ambrosial  sweetness  press'd.) 
Dark  through  his  thoughts  the  miser  purpose  roll'd 
To  turn  its  hidden  treasures  into  gold. 
But  at  his  breath,  by  pestilent  decay, 
The  Indian  tribes  were  swiftly  swept  away  ; 
Silence  and  horror  o'er  the  isles  were  spread, 
The  living  seem'd  the  spectres  of  the  dead. 
The  Spaniard  saw ;  no  sigh  of  pity  stole, 
No  pang  of  conscience  touch'd  his  sullen  soul : 
The  tiger  weeps  not  o'er  the  kid ;—  he  turns 
His  flashing  eyes  abroad,  and  madly  burns 
For  nobler  victims,  and  for  warmer  blood  : 
Thus  on  the  Charib  shore  the  tyrant  stood, 
Thus  cast  his  eyes  with  fury  o'er  the  tide, 
And  far  beyond  the  gloomy  gulph  descried 
Devoted  Africa  :  he  burst  away, 
And  with  a  yell  of  transport  grasp'd  his  prey. 

Where  the  stupendous  Mountains  of  the  Moon 
Cast  their  broad  shadows  o'er  the  realms  of  noon ; 
From  rude  Caffraria,  where  the  giraffes  browse 
With  stately  heads  among  the  forest  boughs, 
To  Atlas,  where  Numidian  lions  glow 
With  torrid  fire  beneath  eternal  snow; 
From  Nubian  hills,  that  hail  the  dawning  day, 
To  Guinea's  coast,  where  evening  fades  away  ; 
Regions  immense,  unsearchable,  unknown, 
Bask  in  the  splendour  of  the  solar  zone,— 
A  world  of  wonders,  where  creation  seems 
No  more  the  works  of  Nature,  but  her  dreams. 
Great,  wild,  and  beautiful,  beyond  control, 
She  reigns  in  all  the  freedom  of  her  soul : 
Where  none  can  check  her  bounty  when  she  showers 
O'er  the  gay  wilderness  her  fruits  and  flowers; 


None  brave  her  fury  when,  with  whirlwind  breath 
And  earthquake  step,  she  walks  abroad  with  death. 
O'er  boundless  plains  she  holds  her  fiery  flight, 
In  terrible  magnificence  of  light ; 
At  blazing  noon  pursues  the  evening  breeze, 
Through   the   dun   gloom   of  realm-o'ersbadowing 

trees ; 
Her  thirst  at  Nile's  mysterious  fountain  quells, 
Or  bathes  in  secrecy  where  Niger  swells 
An  inland  ocean  on  whose  jasper  rocks  [locks. 

With  shells  and  sea-flower  wreaths  she  binds  her 
She  sleeps  on  isles  of  velvet  verdure,  placed 
Midst  sandy  gulphs  and  shoals  for  ever  waste ; 
She  guides  her  countless  flocks  to  cherish'd  rills, 
And  feeds  her  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills  ; 
Her  steps  the  wild  bees  welcome  through  the  vale, 
From  every  blossom  that  embalms  the  gale ; 
The  slow  unwieldy  river-horse  she  leads 
Through  the  deep  waters,  o'er  the  pasturing  meads; 
And  climbs  the  mountains  that  invade  the  sky, 
To  soothe  the  eagle's  nestlings  when  they  cry. 
At  sunset,  when  voracious  monsters  burst 
From  dreams  of  blood,  awaked  by  maddening  thirst; 
When  the  lorn  caves,  in  which  they  shrunk  from  light, 
Ring  with  wild  echoes  through  the  hideous  night : 
When  darkness  seems  alive,  and  all  the  air 
Is  one  tremendous  uproar  of  despair, 
Horror,  and  agony  ;  — on  her  they  call; 
She  hears  their  clamour,  she  provides  for  all, 
Leads  the  light  leopard  on  his  eager  way, 
And  goads  the  gaunt  hya;na  to  his  prey. 

Iu  these  romantic  regions  man  grows  wild: 
Here  dwells  the  Negro,  nature's  outcast  child, 
Scorn'd  by  his  brethren ;  but  his  mother's  eye, 
That  gazes  on  him  from  her  warmest  sky, 
Sees  in  his  flexile  limbs  uututor'd  grace, 
Power  on  his  forehead,  beauty  in  his  face; 
Sees  in  his  breast,  where  lawless  passions  rove, 
The  heart  of  friendship  and  the  home  of  love; 
Sees  in  his  mind,  where  desolation  reigns, 
Fierce  as  his  clime,  uneultur'd  as  his  plains, 
A  soil  where  virtue's  fairest  flowers  might  shoot, 
And  trees  of  science  bend  with  glorious  fruit; 
Sees  in  his  soul,  involved  with  thickest  night, 
An  emanation  of  eternal  light, 
Ordain'd,  midst  sinking  worlds,  his  dust  to  fire, 
And  shine  for  ever  when  the  stars  expire. 


i  The  Cane  is  said  to  have  been  first  transplanted  from 
Madeira  to  the  Brazils,  bj  the  Portuguese,  and  afterwards 


introduced  by  the  Spaniards  into  the  Charibbee  Islands.- 
H-c  also  line  12,  col.  1. 


Part  II. 


THE   WEST   INDIES. 


53 


Is  he  not  man,  though  knowledge  never  shed 
Her  quickening  beams  on  his  neglected  head? 
Is  he  not  man,  though  sweet  religion's  voice 
Ne'er  made  the  mourner  in  his  God  rejoice  ? 
Is  he  not  man,  by  sin  and  suffering  tried  ? 
Is  he  not  man,  for  whom  the  Saviour  died? 
Belie  the  Negro's  powers  :  —  in  headlong  will, 
Christian  !  thy  brother  thou  shalt  prove  him  still : 
Belie  his  virtues ;  since  his  wrongs  began, 
His  follies  and  his  crimes  have  stampt  him  Man. 

The  Spaniard  found  him  such  :  —  the  island-race 
His  foot  had  spurn'd  from  earth's  insulted  face; 
Among  the  waifs  and  foundlings  of  mankind, 
Abroad  he  look'd,  a  sturdier  stock  to  find ; 
A  spring  of  life,  whose  fountains  should  supply 
His  channels  as  he  drank  the  rivers  dry : 
That  stock  he  found  on  Afrie's  swarming  plains, 
That  spring  he  open'd  in  the  Negro's  veins; 
A  spring,  exhaustless  as  his  avarice  drew, 
A  stock  that  like  Prometheus'  vitals  grew 
Beneath  the  eternal  beak  his  heart  that  tore, 
Beneath  the  insatiate  thirst  that  drain'd  his  gore. 
Thus,  childless  as  the  Charibbeans  died, 
Afrie's  strong  sons  the  ravening  waste  supplied; 
Of  hardier  fibre  to  endure  the  yoke, 
And  self-renew'd  beneath  the  severing  stroke; 
As  grim  oppression  erush'd  them  to  the  tomb, 
Their  fruitful  parent's  miserable  womb 
Teem'd  with  fresh  myriads,  crowded  o'er  the  waves, 
Heirs  to  their  toil,  their  sufferings,  and  their  graves. 

Freighted  with  curses  was  the  bark  that  bore 
The  spoilers  of  the  west  to  Guinea's  shore; 
Heavy  with  groans  of  anguish  blew  the  gales 
That  swell'd  that  fatal  bark's  returning  sails ; 
Old  Ocean  shrunk  as  o'er  his  surface  flew 
The  human  cargo  and  the  demon  crew. 

—  Thenceforth,  unnumber'd  as  the  waves  that  roll 
From  sun  to  sun,  or  pass  from  pole  to  pole, 
Outcasts  and  exiles,  from  their  country  torn, 

In  floating  dungeons  o'er  the  gulph  were  borne ; 

—  The  valiant,  seized  in  peril-daring  fight; 
The  weak,  surprised  in  nakedness  and  night; 
Subjects  by  mercenary  despots  sold; 
Victims  of  justice  prostitute  for  gold  ; 
Brothers  by  brothers,  friends  by  friends,  betray 'd ; 
Snared  in  her  lover's  arms  the  trusting  maid; 
The  faithful  wife  by  her  false  lord  estranged, 

For  one  wild  cup  of  drunken  bliss  exchanged ; 


From  the  brute-mother's  knee,  the  infant-boy, 
Kidnapp'd  in  slumber,  barter' d  for  a  toy; 
The  father,  resting  at  Ms  father's  tree, 
Doom'd  by  the  son  to  die  beyond  the  sea : 

—  All  bonds  of  kindred,  law,  alliance,  broke; 
All  ranks,  all  nations,  crouching  to  the  yoke; 
From  fields  of  light,  unshadow'd  climes,  that  lie 
Panting  beneath  the  sun's  meridian  eye; 
From  hidden  Ethiopia's  utmost  land; 

From  Zaara's  fickle  wilderness  of  sand ; 
From  Congo's  blazing  plains  and  blooming  woods; 
From  Whidah's  hills,  that  gush  with  golden  floods ; 
Captives  of  tyrant  power  and  dastard  wiles, 
Dispeopled  Africa,  and  gorged  the  isles. 
Loud  and  perpetual  o'er  the  Atlantic  waves, 
For  guilty  ages,  roll'd  the  tide  of  slaves  ; 
A  tide  that  knew  no  fall,  no  turn,  no  rest, 
Constant  as  day  and  night  from  east  to  west; 
Still  widening,  deepening,  swelling  in  its  course, 
With  boundless  ruin  and  resistless  force. 

Quickly  by  Spain's  alluring  fortune  fired, 
With  hopes  of  fame  and  dreams  of  wealth  inspired, 
Europe's  dread  powers  from  ignominious  ease 
Started;  their  pennons  stream'd  on  every  breeze; 
And  still  where'er  the  wide  discoveries  spread, 
The  cane  was  planted,  and  the  native  bled; 
While,  nursed  by  fiercer  suns,  of  nobler  race, 
The  Negro  toil'd  and  perish'd  in  his  place. 

First,  Lusitania, —  she  whose  prows  had  borne 
Her  arms  triumphant  round  the  car  of  morn, 

—  Turn'd  to  the  setting  sun  her  bright  array, 
And  hung  her  trophies  o'er  the  couch  of  day. 

Holland, —  whose  hardy  sons  roll'd  back  the  sea, 
To  build  the  halcyon-nest  of  libert}', 
Shameless  abroad  the  enslaving  flag  unfurl'd, 
And  reign'd  a  despot  in  the  younger  world. 

Denmark,  —  whose   roving   hordes,  in  barbarous 
times, 
Fill'd  the  wide  North  with  piracy  and  crimes, 
Awed  every  shore,  and  taught  their  keels  to  sweep 
O'er  every  sea,  the  Arabs  of  the  deep, 

—  Embark'd,  once  more  to  western  conquest  led 
By  Rollo's  spirit,  risen  from  the  dead. 

Gallia, —  who  vainly  aim'd,  in  depth  of  night, 
To  hurl  old  Rome  from  her  Tarpeian  height, 


54 


THE   WEST   INDIES. 


Part  III. 


(But  lately  laid,  with  unprevented  blow, 

The  thrones  of  kings,  the  hopes  of  freedom,  low,) 

—  Rush'd  o'er  the  theatre  of  splendid  toils, 
To  brave  the  dangers  and  divide  the  spoils. 

Britannia,— she  who  scathed  the  crest  of  Spain, 
And  won  the  trident  sceptre  of  the  main, 
When  to  the  raging  wind  and  ravening  tide 
She  gave  the  huge  Armada's  scatter'd  pride, 
Smit  by  the  thunder-wielding  hand  that  hurl'd 
Her  vengeance  round  the  wave-encircled  world; 

—  Britannia  shared  the  glory  and  the  guilt,— 
By  her  were  Slavery's  island-altars  built, 

And  fed  with  human  victims  ;  —while  the  cries 
Of  blood  demanding  vengeance  from  the  skies, 
Assail'd  her  traders'  grovelling  hearts  in  vain, 

—  Hearts  dead  to  sympathy,  alive  to  gain, 
Hard  from  impunity,  with  avarice  cold, 
Sordid  as  earth,  insensible  as  gold. 

Thus  through  a  night  of  ages,  in  whose  shade 
The  sons  of  darkness  plied  the  infernal  trade, 
Wild  Africa  beheld  her  tribes,  at  home, 
In  battle  slain  ;  abroad,  condemn'd  to  roam 
O'er  the  salt  waves,  in  stranger  isles  to  bear, 
(Forlorn  of  hope,  and  sold  into  despair,) 
Through  life's  slow  journey,  to  its  dolorous  close, 
Unseen,  unwept,  unutterable  woes. 


PART   III. 


The  Love  of  Country,  and  of  Home,  the  same  in  all 
Ages  and  among  all  Nations.— The  Negro's  Home 
and  Country.  — M iwgo  Park.  — Progress  of  the 
Slave  Trade.—  The  Middle  Passage.—  The  A 
in  the  West  Indies.— The  Guinea  Captain.— The 
Creole  Planter.— The  Moors  of  Barhanj.—L>ueca- 
„eerB_  —Maroons.  — St.  Domingo— Hurricane*.— 
The  Yclloio  Fever. 

TnERE  is  a  land,  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
Where  brighter  suns  dispense  serener  light, 
And  milder  moons  emparadise  the  night; 
A  land  of  beauty,  virtue,  valour,  truth, 
Time-tutor'd  age,  and  love-exalted  youth  ; 
The  wandering  mariner,  whose  eye  explores 
The  wealthiest  isles,  the  most  enchanting  shores, 


Views  not  a  realm  so  bountiful  and  fair, 

Nor  breathes  the  spirit  of  a  purer  air; 

In  every  clime  the  magnet  of  his  soul, 

Touch'd  by  remembrance,  trembles  to  that  pole ; 

For  in  this  land  of  Heaven's  peculiar  grace, 

The  heritage  of  nature's  noblest  race, 

There  is  a  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 

A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest, 

Where  man,  creation's  tyrant,  casts  aside 

His  sword  and  sceptre,  pageantry  and  pride, 

While  in  his  soften'd  looks  benignly  blend 

The  sire,  the  son,  the  husband,  brother,  friend: 

Here  woman  reigns ;  the  mother,  daughter,  wife, 

Strews  with  fresh  flowers  the  narrow  way  of  life; 

In  the  clear  heaven  of  her  delightful  eye, 

An  angel-guard  of  loves  and  graces  lie ; 

Around  her  knees  domestic  duties  meet, 

And  fire-side  pleasures  gambol  at  her  feet. 

"  Where  shall  that  land,  that  spot  ofearth,be  found?" 

Art  thou  a  man? — a  patriot? — look  around; 

0,  thou  shalt  find,  howe'er  thy  footsteps  roam, 

That  land  thy  country,  and  that  spot  thy  home  ! 

On  Greenland's  rocks,  o'er  rude  Kamtschatka's 
plains, 
In  pale  Siberia's  desolate  domains ; 
When  the  wild  hunter  takes  his  lonely  way, 
Tracks  through  tempestuous  snows  his  savage  prey, 
The  reindeer's  spoil,  the  ermine's  treasure,  shares, 
And  feasts  his  famine  on  the  fat  of  bears ; 
Or,  wrestling  with  the  might  of  raging  seas, 
Where  round  the  pole  the  eternal  billows  freeze, 
Plucks  from  their  jaws  the  stricken  whale,  in  vain 
Plunging  down  headlong  through  the  whirling  main; 
—  His  wastes  of  ice  are  lovelier  in  his  eye 
Than  all  the  flowery  vales  beneath  the  sky ; 
And  dearer  far  than  Caesar's  palace-dome, 
His  cavern-shelter,  and  his  cottage-home. 

O'er  China's  garden-fields  and  peopled  floods; 
In  California's  pathless  world  of  woods ; 
Round   Andes'   heights,   where   Winter,   from  hia 

throne, 
Looks  down  in  scorn  upon  the  Summer  zone; 
By  the  gay  borders  of  Bermuda's  isles, 
Where  Spring  with  everlasting  verdure  smiles; 
On  pure  Madeira's  vine-robed  hills  of  health  ; 
In  Java's  swamps  of  pestilence  and  wealth; 
Where  Babel  stood,  where  wolves  and  jackals  drink, 
'Midst  weeping  willows,  on  Euphrates'  brink ; 


Part  III. 


THE   WEST   INDIES. 


55 


On  Carinel's  crest;  by  Jordan's  reverend  stream, 
Where  Canaan's  glories  vanish'd  like  a  dream ; 
Where  Greece,  a  spectre,  haunts  her  heroes'  graves, 
And  Rome's  vast  ruins  darken  Tiber's  waves ; 
Where  broken-hearted  Switzerland  bewails 
Iler  subject  mountains  and  dishonour'd  vales; 
Where  Albion's  rocks  exult  amidst  the  sea, 
Around  the  beauteous  isle  of  Liberty; 
—  Man,  through  all  ages  of  revolving  time, 
Unchanging  man,  in  every  varying  clime, 
Deems  his  own  land  of  every  land  the  pride, 
Beloved  by  Heaven  o'er  all  the  world  beside ; 
His  home  the  spot  of  earth  supremely  blest, 
A  dearer,  sweeter  spot  than  all  the  rest. 

And  is  the  Negro  outlaw'd  from  his  birth  ? 
Is  he  alone  a  stranger  on  the  earth? 
Is  there  no  shed,  whose  peeping  roof  appears 
So  lovely  that  it  fills  his  eyes  with  tears  ? 
No  land,  whose  name,  in  exile  heard,  will  dart 
Ice  through  his  veins,  and  lightning  through   his 

heart? 
Ah!  yes;  beneath  the  beams  of  brighter  skies, 
His  home  amidst  his  father's  country  lies; 
There  with  the  partner  of  his  soul  he  shares 
Love-mingled  pleasures,  love-dividing  cares : 
There,  as  with  nature's  warmest  filial  fire, 
He  soothes  his  blind,  and  feeds  his  helpless,  sire; 
His  children  sporting  round  his  hut  behold 
How  they  shall  cherish  him  when  he  is  old, 
Train'd  by  example  from  their  tenderest  youth 
To  deeds  of  charity,  and  words  of  truth.1 
— Is  he  not  blest?     Behold,  at  closing  day, 
The  negro-village  swarms  abroad  to  play  ; 
He  treads  the  dance  through  all  its  rapturous  rounds, 
To  the  wild  music  of  barbarian  sounds ; 
Or,  stretch'd  at  ease,  where  broad  palmettos  shower 
Delicious  coolness  in  his  shadowy  bower, 
He  feasts  on  tales  of  witchcraft,  that  give  birth 
To  breathless  wonder,  or  ecstatic  mirth  : 
Yet  most  delighted,  when,  in  rudest  rhymes, 
The  minstrel  wakes  the  song  of  elder  times, 

1  Dr.  Winterbotham  says,  "  The  respect  which  the  Afri- 
cans pay  to  old  people  is  very  great. —  One  of  the  severest 
insults  which  can  be  offered  to  an  African  is  to  speak  dis- 
respectfully of  his  mother." "  The  Negro  race  is,  perhaps, 

the  most  prolific  of  all  the  human  species.  Their  infancy 
and  youth  are  singularly  happy.—  The  mothers  are  pas- 
sionately fond  of  their  children." — Goldbury's  Travels. 

"Strike  me,"  said  my  attendant,  "but  do  not  curse  my 
mother." — "The  same  sentiment  I  found  universally  to 


When  men  were  heroes,  slaves  to  Beauty's  charms, 
And  all  the  joys  of  life  were  love  and  arms. 

—  Is  not  the  Negro  blest?     His  generous  soil 
With  harvest-plenty  crowns  his  simple  toil; 
More  than  his  wants  his  flocks  and  fields  afford : 
He  loves  to  greet  the  stranger  at  his  board : 

*'  The  winds  were  roaring,  and  the  White  Man  fled, 
The  rains  of  night  descended  on  his  head; 
The  poor  White  Man  sat  down  beneath  our  tree, 
Weary  and  faint,  and  far  from  homo  was  he  : 
For  him  no  mother  fills  with  milk  the  bowl, 
No  wife  prepares  the  bread  to  cheer  his  soul; 

—  Pity  the  poor  White  Man  who  sought  our  tree, 
No  wife,  no  mother,  and  no  home  has  he." 
Thus  sang  the  Negro's  daughter;  —  once  again, 

0  that  the  poor  White  Man  might  hear  that  strain  ! 

— Whether  the  victim  of  the  treacherous  Moor, 

Or  from  the  Negro's  hospitable  door 

Spurn'd  as  a  spy  from  Europe's  hateful  clime, 

And  left  to  perish  for  thy  country's  crime  ; 

Or  destined  still,  when  all  thy  wanderings  cease, 

On  Albion's  lovely  lap  to  rest  in  peace  ; 

Pilgrim !  in  heaven  or  earth,  where'er  thou  be, 

Angels  of  mercy  guide  and  comfort  thee ! 

Thus  lived  the  Negro  in  his  native  land, 
Till  Christian  cruisers  anchor'd  on  his  strand; 
Where'er  their  grasping  arms  the  spoilers  spread, 
The  Negro's  joys,  the  Negro's  virtues,  fled; 
Till,  far  amidst  the  wilderness  unknown, 
They  flourish'd  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  alone : 
While  from  the  coast,  with  wide  and  wider  sweep, 
The  race  of  Mammon  dragg'd  across  the  deep 
Their  sable  victims,  to  that  western  bourn, 
From  which  no  traveller  might  e'er  return, 
To  blazon  in  the  ears  of  future  slaves 
The  secrets  of  the  world  beyond  the  waves. 

When  the  loud  trumpet  of  eternal  doom 
Shall  break  the  mortal  bondage  of  the  tomb; 
When  with  a  mother's  pangs  the  expiring  earth 
Shall  bring  her  children  forth  to  second  birth  ; 

prevail."— "  One  of  the  first  lessons  in  which  the  Man- 
dingo  women  instruct  their  children  is  the^rarticc  nf  truth. 
It  was  the  only  consolation  for  a  Negro  mother,  whose  son 
had  been  murdered  by  the  Moors,  that  the  poor  boy  had 
never  told  a  lie."— Park's  Travels.  The  description  of  Afri- 
can life  and  manners  that  follows,  and  the  song  of  the 
Negro's  daughters,  are  copied  without  exaggeration  from 
the  authentic  accounts  of  Mungo  Park. 


56 


THE   WEST    INDIES. 


Part  III. 


Then  shall  the  sea's  mysterious  caverns,  spread 
With  human  relies,  render  up  their  dead: 
Though  warm  with  life  the  heaving  surges  glow, 
Where'er  the  winds  of  heaven  were  wont  to  blow, 
In  sevenfold  phalanx  shall  the  rallying  hosts 
Of  ocean  slumberers  join  their  wandering  ghosts, 
Along  the  melancholy  gulph  that  roars 
From  Guinea  to  the  Charibbean  shores, 
Myriads  of  slaves,  that  perish'd  on  the  way, 
From  age  to  age  the  shark's  appointed  prey, 
By  livid  plagues,  by  lingering  tortures  slain, 
Or  headlong  plunged  alive  into  the  main,1 
Shall  rise  in  judgment  from  their  gloomy  beds, 
And  call  down  vengeance  on  their  murderers'  heads- 
Yet  small  the  number,  and  the  fortune  blest, 
Of  those  who  in  the  stormy  deep  found  rest, 
Weigh'd  with  the  unremember'd  millions  more, 
That  'scaped  the  sea,  to  perish  on  the  shore, 
By  the  slow  pangs  of  solitary  care, 
The  earth-devouring  anguish  of  despair,1 
The  broken  heart,  which  kindness  never  heals, 
The  home-sick  passion  which  the  Negro  feels, 
AVhen,  toiling,  fainting  in  the  land  of  canes, 
His  spirit  wanders  to  his  native  plains; 
His  little  lovely  dwelling  there  he  sees, 
Beneath  the  shade  of  his  paternal  trees, 

i  On  this  subject  the  following  instance  of  almost  incred- 
ible cruelty  was  substantiated  in  a  court  of  justice: — 

"  In  this  year  (17S3),  certain  underwriters  desired  to  he 
heard  against  Grcgson  and  others  of  Liverpool,  in  the  case  of 
the  ship  Zong.Captain  Coll ingwood. alleging  that  the  captain 
and  officers  of  the  said  vessel  threw  overheard  one  hundred 
and  thirty-two  slaves  alive  into  the  sen.  in  order  to  defraud 
them,  by  claiming  the  value  of  the  said  slaves,  as  If  the;  had 
been  lost  in  a  natural  way.  In  the  course  of  the  trial,  which 
afterwards  came  on,  it  appeared  that  the  slaves  on  board  the 
Zong  were  very  sickly;  that  sixty  of  them  had  already  died; 
and  several  were  ill.  and  likely  to  die,  when  thecaptain  pro- 
posed to  James  Kelsal.  the  mate,  and  others,  to  throw  sev- 
eral of  them  overboard,  stating,  'that  if  they  died  a  natural 
death,  the  loss  would  fall  upon  the  owners  of  the  ship,  but 
that,  if  they  were  thrown  into  the  sea,  it  would  fall  upon 
the  underwriters.'  He  selected  accordingly,  one  hundred 
"  and  thirty -two  of  the  most  sickly  of  the  slaves.  I  Fifty-four 
of  these  were  immediately  thrown  overboard,  and  forty-two 
were  made  to  he  partakers  of  their  fate  on  the  succeeding 
day.  In  the  course  of  three  days  afterwards  the  remaining 
thirty-six  were  brought  upon  deck,  to  complete  the  number 
of  victims.  The  first  sixteen  submitted  to  be  thrown  into 
the  sea;  hut  the  rest,  with  a  noble  resolution,  would  not 
suffer  the  officers  to  touch  them,  but  leaped  after  their 
companions,  and  share!  their  fate. 

"The  plea  which  was  set  up  in  behalf  of  this  atrocious 
and  unparalleled  act  of  wickedness  was,  that  the  captain 
discovered,  when  he  made  the  proposal,  that  he  had  only 


The  home  of  comfort :  —  then  before  his  eyes 

The  terrors  of  captivity  arise. 

— 'Twas   night:  —  his   babes   around    him    lay   at 

rest, 
Their  mother  slumber'd  on  their  father's  breast : 
A  yell  of  murder  rang  around  their  bed; 
They  woke;  their  cottage  blazed;  the  victims  fled; 
Forth  sprang  the  ambush'd  ruffians  on  their  prey, 
They  caught,  they  bound,  they  drove  them  faraway; 
The  white  man  bought  them  at  the  mart  of  blood; 
In  pestilential  barks  they  cross'd  the  flood; 
Then  were  the  wretched  ones  asunder  torn, 
To  distant  isles,  to  separate  bondage  borne, 
Denied,  though  sought  with  tears,  the  sad  relief 
That  misery  loves, —  the  fellowship  of  grief. 
The  Negro,  spoil'd  of  all  that  nature  gave 
To  freeborn  man,  thus  shrunk  into  a  slave  ; 
His  passive  limbs,  to  measur'd  tasks  confined, 
Obey'd  the  impulse  of  another  mind; 
A  silent,  secret,  terrible  control, 
That  ruled  his  sinews,  and  repress'd  his  sonl. 
Not  for  himself  he  waked  at  morning-light, 
Toil'd  the  long  day,  and  sought  repose  at  night; 
His  rest,  his  labour,  pastime,  strength,  and  health, 
Were  only  portions  of  a  master's  wealth ; 
His  love  —  0,  name  not  love,  where  Britons  doom 
The  fruit  of  love  to  slavery  from  the  womb  ! 

two  hundred  gallons  of  water  on  board,  and  that  he  had 
missed  his  port.  It  was  proved,  however,  in  answer  to  this, 
that  no  one  had  been  put  upon  short  allowance;  and  that, 
as  if  Providence  had  determined  to  afford  an  unequivocal 
proof  of  the  guilt,  a  shower  of  rain  fell,  and  continued  for 
three  days,  immediately  after  the  second  lot  of  slaves  had 
been  destroyed,  by  means  of  which  they  might  have  filled 
many  of  their  vessels*  with  water,  and  thus  have  prevent- 
ed all  necessity  for  the  destruction  of  the  third. 

"  Mr.  Sharpe  was  present  at  this  trial,  and  procured  the 
attendance  of  a  short-hand  writer  to  take  down  the  facts 
which  should  come  out  in  the  course  of  it.  These  be  gave 
to  the  public  afterwards.  He  communicated  them  also, 
with  a  copy  of  the  trial,  to  the  Lords  of  the  Admiralty,  as 
the  guardians  of  justice  upon  the  seas,  and  to  the  Duke  of 
Portland,  as  principal  minister  of  state.  No  notice,  how- 
ever, was  taken  by  any  of  these  of  the  information  which 
had  been  thus  sent  them." — C'larkson's  Histcry  of  Iht  Abo- 
lition, &c,  pp.  95  —  97. 

2  The  Negroes  sometimes,  in  deep  and  irrecoverable  me- 
lancholy, waste  themselves  away,  by  secretly  swallowing 
large  quantities  of  earth.  It  is  remarkable  that  '-earth 
eating."'  as  it  is  called,  is  an  infectious,  and  even  a  social 
malady:  plantations  have  been  occasionally  almost  depop- 
ulated by  the  slaves,  with  one  consent,  betaking  I 
selves  to  this  strange  practice,  which  speedily  brings  theaa 
to  a  miserable  and  premature  end. 

*  It  appeared  that  they  filled  six. 


Paot  III. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


57 


Thus  spurn'd,  degraded,  trampled,  and  oppress'd, 
The  Negro-exile  languish'd  in  the  West, 
With  nothing  left  of  life  but  hated  breath, 
And  not  a  hope  except  the  hope  in  death  — 
To  fly  for  ever  from  the  Creole-strand, 
And  dwell  a  freeman  in  his  father-land. 

Lives  there  a  savage  ruder  than  the  slave  ? 

—  Cruel  as  death,  insatiate  as  the  grave, 
False  as  the  winds  that  round  his  vessel  blow, 
Remorseless  as  the  gulf  that  yawns  below, 

Is  he  who  toils  upon  the  wafting  flood, 
A  Christian  broker  in  the  trade  of  blood ! 
Boisterous  in  speech,  in  action  prompt  and  bold, 
He  buys,  he  sells, —  he  steals,  he  kills,  for  gold. 
At  noon,  when  sky  and  ocean,  calm  and  clear, 
Bend  round  his  bark  one  blue  unbroken  sphere  ; 
When  dancing  dolphins  sparkle  through  the  brine, 
And  sunbeam  circles  o'er  the  waters  shine; 
He  sees  no  beauty  in  the  heaven  serene, 
No  soul-enchanting  sweetness  in  the  scene, 
But,  darkly  scowling  at  the  glorious  day, 
Curses  the  winds  that  loiter  on  their  way. 
When,  swollen  with  hurricanes,  the  billows  rise 
To  meet  the  lightning  midway  from  the  skies  ; 
When,   from   the   unburden'd   hold,   his    shrieking 
slaves 
/Are  cast,  at  midnight,  to  the  hungry  waves; 
Not  for  his  victims  strangled  in  the  deeps, 
Not  for  his  crimes,  the  harden'd  pirate  weeps, — 
But,  grimly  smiling,  when  the  storm  is  o'er, 
Counts  his  sure  gains,  and  hurries  back  for  more.1 

Lives  there  a  reptile  baser  than  the  slave  ?a 

—  Loathsome  as  death,  corrupted  as  tho  grave, 
See  the  dull  Creole,  at  his  pompous  board, 
Attendant  vassals  cringing  round  their  lord  : 
Satiate  with  food,  his  heavy  eyelids  close, 
Voluptuous  minions  fan  him  to  repose; 
Prone  on  the  noonday  couch  he  lolls  in  vain, 
Delirious  slumbers  rock  his  maudlin  brain  ; 
He  starts  in  horror  from  bewildering  dreams; 
His  bloodshot  eye  with  fire  and  frenzy  gleams  : 

i  See  note  ',  page  56. 

-  The  character  of  the  Creole  planter  here  drawn  is  justi- 
fied both  by  reason  and  fact:  it  is  no  monster  of  imagina- 
tion, though,  for  the  credit  of  human  nature,  we  may  hope 
that  it  is  a  monster  as  rare  as  it  is  shocking.  It  is  the 
double  curse  of  slavery  to  degrade  all  who  are  ooncerned 
with  it,  doing  or  suffering.   The  slave  himself  is  the  lowest 


lie  stalks  abroad ;  through  all  his  wonted  rounds, 
The  Negro  trembles,  and  the  lash  resounds, 
And  cries  of  anguish,  shrilling  through  the  air, 
To  distant  fields  his  dread  approach  declare. 
Mark,  as  he  passes,  every  head  declined ; 
Then  slowly  raised,  — to  curse  him  from  behind. 
This  is  the  veriest  wretch  on  nature's  face, 
Own'd  by  no  country,  spurn'd  by  every  race; 
The  tether'd  tyrant  of  one  narrow  span, 
The  bloated  vampire  of  a  living  man  ; 
His  frame, —  a  fungous  form,  of  dunghill  birth, 
That  taints  the  air,  and  rots  above  the  earth ; 

His  soul has  he  a  soul,  whose  sensual  breast 

Of  selfish  passions  is  a  serpent's  nest; 
Who  follows,  headlong,  ignorant,  and  blind, 
The  vague  brute  instinct  of  an  idiot  mind; 
Whose  heart,  'midst  scenes  of  suffering  senseless 

grown, 
E'en  from  his  mother's  lap  was  chill'd  to  stone ; 
Whose  torpid  pulse  no  social  feelings  move  ? 
A  stranger  to  the  tenderness  of  love, 
His  motley  harem  charms  his  gloating  eye, 
Where  ebon,  brown,  and  olive  beauties  vie; 
His  children,  sprung  alike  from  sloth  and  vice, 
Are  born  his  slaves,  and  loved  at  market  price  : 
Has  he  a  soul?  —  With  his  departing  breath, 
A  form  shall  hail  him  at  the  gates  of  death.  — 
The   spectre  Conscience,  —  shrieking   through   the 

gloom, 
"  Man  !  we  shall  meet  again  beyond  the  tomb." 

0  Africa !  amidst  thy  children's  woes, 
Did  earth  and  heaven  conspire  to  aid  thy  foes  ? 
No,  thou  hadst  vengeance — from  thy  northern  shores 
Sallied  the  lawless  corsairs  of  the  Moors, 
And  back  on  Europe's  guilty  nations  hurl'd 
Thy  wrongs  and  sufferings  in  the  sister  world : 
Deep  in  thy  dungeons  Christians  clank'd  their  chains, 
Or  toil'd  and  perish'd  on  thy  parching  plains. 

But  where  thine  offspring  crouch'd  beneath  the 
yoke, 
In  heavier  peals  the  avenging  thunder  broke. 

in  the  scale  of  human  beings, — except  the  slave-dealer. 
Dr.  Pinkard's  Netei  on  the  West  Indies,  and  Captain  Stcd- 
man's  Account  of  Surinam,  afford  examples  of  the  cruelty, 
ignorance,  sloth,  and  sensuality  of  the  Creole  planters, 
particularly  in  Dutch  Guiana,  which  fully  equal  the  epitome 
of  vice  and  abomination  exhibited  in  these  lines. 


58 


THE    WEST  INDIES. 


Part  IV. 


—  Leagued  with  rapacious  rovers  of  the  main, 
Hayti's  barbarian  hunters  liarass'd  Spain,1 

A  mammoth  race,  invincible  in  might, 

Rapine  and  massacre  their  dire  delight, 

Peril  their  element;  — o'er  laud  and  flood 

They  carried   fire,  and  qucnch'd   the   flames  with 

blood ; 
Despairing  captives  hail'd  them  from  the  coasts; 
They  rush'd  to  conquest,  led  by  Charib  ghosts. 

Tremble,  Britannia  !  while  thine  islands  tell 
The  appalling  myteries  of  Obi's  spell;2 
The  wild  Maroons,  impregnable  and  free, 
Among  the  mountain-holds  of  liberty, 
Sudden  as  lightning  darted  on  their  foe,  — 
Seen  like  the  flash,  remember'd  like  the  blow. 

While  Gallia  boasts  of  dread  Marengo's  flight, 
And  Hohenlindcn's  slaughter-deluged  night, 
Her  spirit  sinks  ;  —  the  sinews  of  the  brave, 
That  crippled  Europe,  shrunk  before  the  slave ; 
The  demon-spectres  of  Domingo  rise, 
And  all  her  triumphs  vanish  from  her  eyes. 

Gon  is  a  spirit,  veil'd  from  human  sight 
In  secret  darkness  of  eternal  light: 
Through  all  the  glory  of  his  works  we  trace 
The  hidings  of  his  counsel  and  his  face; 
Nature,  and  time,  and  change,  and  fate  fulfil, 
Unknown,  unknowing,  his  mysterious  will; 
Mercies  and  judgments  mark  him,  every  hour, 
Supreme  in  grace,  and  infinite  in  power: 
Oft  o'er  the  Eden-islands  of  the  West, 
In  floral  pomp  and  verdant  beauty  drest, 
Roll  the  dark  clouds  of  his  awaken'd  ire  : 

—  Thunder  and  earthquake,  whirlwind,  flood,  and 

fire, 
Midst  reeling  mountains  and  departing  plains, 
Tell  the  pale  world, — "the  God  of  vengeance  reigns." 

Nor  in  the  majesty  of  storms  alone,3 
The  Eternal  makes  his  dread  displeasure  known. 
At  his  command,  the  pestilence  abhorr'd 
Spares   the   poor   slave,   and   smites   the   haughty 
lord: 


>  Alludingto  the  freebooters  and  buccaneers  who  infested 
the  Charibbean  seas  during  tin*  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 
centuries, and  were  equally  renowned  for  their  valour  and 
brutality. 

•  See  Dallas's  History  of  the  Maroons,  among  the  moun- 
tains of  Jamaica:  also  Dr.  Moseley's  Treatise  on  Sugar. 


While  to  the  tomb  he  sees  his  friend  consign'd, 
Foreboding  melancholy  sinks  his  mind  ; 
Soon  at  his  heart  he  feels  the  monster's  fangs, 
They  tear  his  vituls  with  convulsive  pangs: 
The  light  is  anguish  to  his  eye;  the  air, 
Sepulchral  vapours  laden  with  despair : 
Now  frenzy-horrors  rack  his  whirling  brain, 
Tremendous  pulses  throb  through  every  vein  ; 
The  firm  earth  shrinks  beneath  his  torture-bed, 
The  sky  in  ruins  rushes  o'er  his  head;  — 
He  rolls,  he  rages,  in  consuming  fires, 
Till  nature,  spent  with  agony,  expires! 

TART    IV. 


The  Moravian  Brethren. —  Their  Missions  in  Green- 
bind.  North  America,  and  the  West  Indies. — 
Christian  Negroes. —  The  Advocates  of  the  Ne- 
groes in  England. — Granville  Sharpe, — Clarkson, 

—  Wilber/nrce, —  Pitt, — Fox, —  The  Nation  itself. 

—  The  Abolition  of  the  Slave  Trade. — The  Future 
State  of  the  West  Indies,  —  of  Africa,  —  of  the 
Whole   World. —  The  Millennium. 

Was  there  no  mercy,  mother  of  the  slave ! 

No  friendly  hand  to  succour  and  to  save, 

While  commerce  thus  thy  captive  tribes  oppress'd, 

And  lowering  vengeance  linger'd  o'er  the  west? 

Yes,  Africa!  beneath  the  stranger's  rod 

They  found  the  freedom  of  the  sons  of  God. 

When  Europe  languish'd  in  barbarian  gloom, 
Beneath  the  ghostly  tyranny  of  Rome, 
Whose  second  empire,  eowl'd  and  mitred,  burst 
A  phoenix  from  the  ashes  of  the  first ; 
From  Persecution's  piles,  by  bigots  fired, 
Among  Bohemian  mountains  Truth  retired: 
There,  'midst  rude  rocks,  in  lonely  glens  obscure, 
They  found  a  people  seatter'd,  scorn'd,  and  poor, 
A  little  flock  through  quiet  valleys  led, 
A  Christian  Israel  in  the  desert  fed,  [hand, 

While  ravening  wolves,  that  scorn'd  the  shepherd's 
Laid  waste  Gon's  heritage  through  every  land. 

:i  For  miuuto  and  afflicting  details  of  the  origin  and  pro- 
gress of  the  yellow  fever  in  an  individual  subject.  Bee  Dr. 
Pinkard'a  Notes  on  the  West  biases,  vol.  iii..  particularly 
Letter  xii.,  in  which  the  writer,  from  experience,  describes 
its  horrors  and  sufferings. 


Part  IV. 


THE   WEST   INDIES. 


59 


With  these  the  lovely  exile  sojoum'd  long : 

Soothed  by  her  presence,  solaced  by  her  song, 

They  toil'd  through  danger,  trials,  and  distress, 

A  band  of  Virgins  in  the  wilderness, 

With  burning  lamps,  amid  their  secret  bowers, 

Counting  the  watches  of  the  weary  hours, 

In  patient  hope  the  Bridegroom's  voice  to  hear, 

And  see  his  banner  in  the  clouds  appear. 

But  when  the  morn  returning  chased  the  night, 

These  stars,  that  shone  in  darkness,  sunk  in  light: 

Luther,  like  Phosphor,  led  the  conquering  day, — 

His  meek  forerunners  waned,  and  pass'd  away.1 

Ages  roll'd  by;  the  turf  perennial  bloom'd 
O'er  the  lorn  relics  of  those  saints  entomb'd: 
No  miracle  proclaim'd  their  power  divine, — 
No  kings  adorn'd,  no  pilgrims  kiss'd,  their  shrine ; 
Cold  and  forgotten  in  the  grave  they  slept : 
But  God  remember'd  them:  —  their  Father  kept 
A  faithful  remnant;  —  o'er  their  native  cliine 
His  Spirit  moved  in  his  appointed  time  ; 
The  race  revived  at  his  almighty  breath, 
A  seed  to  serve  him,  from  the  dust  of  death. 

"Go  forth,  my   sons!    through   heathen   realms 
proclaim 
Mercy  to  sinners  in  a  Saviour's  name :" 
Thus  spake  the  Lord  ;  they  heard,  and  they  obey'd  : 
—  Greenland  lay  wrapt  in  nature's  heaviest  shade; 
Thither  the  ensign  of  the  Cross  they  bore ; 
The  gaunt  barbarians  met  them  on  the  shore; 
With  joy  and  wonder  hailing  from  afar, 
Through  polar  storms,  the  light  of  Jacob's  star. 

Where  roll  Ohio's  streams,  Missouri's  floods, 
Beneath  the  umbrage  of  eternal  woods, 
The  Red  Man  roaui'd,  a  hunter-warrior  wild : 
On  him  the  everlasting  Gospel  smiled; 
His  heart  was  awed,  confounded,  pierced,  subdued, 
Divinely  melted,  moulded,  and  renew'd  : 
The  bold  base  savage,  nature's  harshest  clod, 
Rose  from  the  dust  the  image  of  his  God. 

'  The  context  preceding  and  following  this  line  alludes  to 
the  old  Bohemian  and  Moravian  Brethren,  who  flourished 
long  before  the  Beformation,  hut  afterwards  were  almost 
lost  among  the  Protestants,  till  the  beginning  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century,  when  their  ancient  episcopal  church  was 
revived  in  Lusatia,  by  some  refugees  from  Moravia. — See 
Crantz's  Ancient  and  Modern  Jlistury  of  the  Brethren.  His- 
tories of  tho  missions  of  the  Brethren  in  Greenland,  North 
America,  and  the  West  Indies,  have  been  published  inGer- 


And  thou,  poor  Negro!  scorn'd  of  all  mankind; 
Thou  dumb  and  impotent,  and  deaf  and  blind; 
Thou  dead  in  spirit !  toil-degrading  slave, 
Crush'd  by  the  curse  on  Adam  to  the  grave :  — 
The  messengers  of  peace,  o'er  land  and  sea, 
That  sought  the  sons  of  sorrow,  stoop'd  to  thee. 
—  The  captive  raised  his  slow  and  sullen  eye ; 
He  knew  no  friend,  nor  deem'd  a  friend  was  nigh, 
Till  the  sweet  tones  of  Pity  touch 'd  his  ears, 
And  Mercy  bathed  his  bosom  with  her  tears : 
Strange  were  those  tones,  to  him  those  tears  were 

strange ; 
He  wept  and  wonder'd  at  the  mighty  change, 
Felt  the  quick  pang  of  keen  compunction  dart, 
And  heard  a  still  small  whisper  in  his  heart, 
A  voice  from  Heaven,  that  bade  the  outcast  rise 
From  shame  on  earth  to  glory  in  the  skies! 

'From  isle  to  isle  the  welcome  tidings  ran; 
The  slave  that  heard  them,  started  into  man : 
Like  Peter,  sleeping  in  his  chains  he  lay, — 
The  angel  came,  his  night  was  turn'd  to  day ; 
"  Arise  ! " —  his  fetters  fall,  his  slumbers  flee  ; 
Ho  wakes  to  life,  he  springs  to  liberty. 

No  more  to  demon-gods,  in  hideous  forms, 
He  pray'd  for  earthquakes,  pestilence,  and  storms, 
In  secret  agony  devour'd  the  earth, 
And,    while    he    spared    his    mother,    cursed    his 
birth2;  — 
I  To  Heaven  the  Christian  Negro  sent  his  sighs, 
In  morning  vows  and  evening  sacrifice  ; 
Ho  pray'd  for  blessings  to  descend  on  those 
That  dealt  to  him  the  cup  of  many  woes; 
Thought  of  his  home  in  Africa  forlorn  ; 
Tet,  while  he  wept,  rejoiced  that  he  was  born. 
No  longer,  burning  with  unholy  fires, 
He  wallow'd  in  the  dust  of  base  desires  : 
Ennobling  virtue  fix'd  his  hopes  above, 
Enlarged  his  heart,  and  sanctified  his  love : 
With  humble  steps  the  paths  of  peace  he  trod, 
A  happy  pilgrim,  for  he  walk'd  with  God. 

many  :  those  of  the  two  former  have  been  translated  into 
English. —  See  Crantz's  History  of  Greenland,  and  Loskiel's 
History  qfthe  Brethren  among  the  Indians  of  North  America, 
It  is  only  justice  here  to  observe,  that  Christians  of  other 
denominations  have  exerted  themselves  with  great  success 
in  the  conversion  of  the  Negroes.  No  invidious  preference 
is  intended  to  be  given  to  the  Moravians;  but,  knowing 
them  best,  the  Author  particularised  this  society. 
2  See  notes,  p.  56. 


60 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


Part  IV. 


Still  slowly  spread  the  dawn  of  life  and  day, 
In  death  and  darkness  pagan  myriads  lay : 
Stronger  and  heavier  chains  than  those  that  bind 
The  captive's  limbs,  enthrall'd  his  abject  mind; 
The  yoke  of  man  his  neck  indignant  bore, 
The  yoke  of  sin  his  willing  spirit  bore. 

Meanwhile,  among  the  great,  the  brave,  the  free, 
The  matchless  race  of  Albion  and  the  sea, 
Champions  arose  to  plead  the  Negro's  cause. 
In  the  wide  breach  of  violated  laws, 
Through  which  the  torrent  of  injustice  roll'd, 
They  stood:  —  with  zeal  unconquerably  bold, 
They  raised  their  voices,  stretch'd  their  arms,  to  save 
From  chains  the  freeman,  from  despair  the  slave  ; 
The  exile's  heart-sick  anguish  to  assuage, 
And  rescue  Afrie  from  the  spoiler's  rage. 
She,  miserable  mother,  from  the  shore, 
Age  after  age,  beheld  the  barks  that  bore 
Her  tribes  to  bondage  :  —  with  distraction  wrung, 
Wild  as  the  lioness  that  seeks  her  young, 
She  flash'd  unheeded  lightnings  from  her  eyes ; 
Her  inmost  deserts  echoing  to  her  cries; 

1  Granville  Sharpc,  Esq.,  after  a  struggle  of  many  years 
against  authority  and  precedent,  established  in  our  courts 
of  justice  the  law  of  the  Constitution,  that  there  are  no  slaves 
in  England,  and  that  the  fact  of  a  Negro  being  found  in 
this  country  is  of  itself  a  proof  that  he  is  a  freoman. 

a  No  panegyric  which  a  conscientious  writer  can  bestow, 
or  a  good  man  may  receive,  will  be  deemed  extravagant  for 
the  modest  merits  of  Mr.  Clarkson,  by  those  who  are  ac- 
quainted with  his  labours.—  See  his  History  of  the  Abolition) 
&c.  2  vols. 

3  The  Author  of  this  poem  confesses  himself  under  many 
obligations  to  Mr.  Wilberforce's  eloquent  letter  on  the  Aboli- 
tion of  the  Slave  Trade,  addressed  to  the  freeholders  of  York- 
shire, and  published  in  1S07,  previous  to  the  decision  of  the 
question.  Las  Casas  has  been  accused  of  being  a  promoter, 
if  nnt  the  original  projector,  of  the  Negro  Slave  Trade  to  the 
West  Indies.  The  Abbe  Gregoirc  some  years  ago  published 
a  defence  of  this  great  and  good  man  against  the  degrading 
imputation.  The  following,  among  other  arguments  which 
he  advances,  are  well  worthy  of  consideration :  — 

The  slave  trade  between  Africa  and  the  West  Indies  com- 
menced, according  to  Ilerrera  himself,  the  first  and  indeed 
the  only  accuser  of  Las  Casas,  nineteen  years  before  the 
epoch  of  his  pretended  project. 

Ilerrera  (from  whom  other  authors  have  negligen  tl y  1 1 1 1  en 
the  fact  for  granted,  on  his  bare  word)  does  not  quote  a  single 
authority  in  support  of  his  assertion  that  Las  Casas  recom- 
mended the  importation  of  Negroes  into  Ilispaniola.  The 
charge  itself  was  first  published  thirty-five  years  after  the 
death  of  Las  Casas.  All  writers  antecedent  to  IIcrrcra.  and 
contemporary  with  him,  are  silent  on  the  subject,  although 
several  of  these  were  the  avowed  enemies  of  Las  Casas. 
Herrera's  veracity  on  other  points  is  much  disputed,  and 
lie  displays  violent  prejudices  against  the  man  whom  he 


Till  agony  the  sense  of  suffering  stole, 

And  stern  unconscious  grief  benumb'd  her  soul. 

So  Niobe,  when  all  her  raco  were  slain, 

In  ecstasy  of  woe  forgot  her  pain : 

Cold  in  her  eye  serenest  sorrow  shone, 

While  pitying  Nature  soothed  her  into  stone. 

Thus  Africa,  entranced  in  sorrow,  stood, 
Her  fix'd  eye  gleaming  on  the  restless  flood  : 
— When   Sharpe.   on   proud   Britannia's    charter'd 

shore,1 
From  Libyan  limbs  the  unsanction'd  fetters  tore, 
And  taught  the  world,  that,  while   she   rules   the 

waves, 
Her  soil  is  freedom  to  the  feet  of  slaves : 
— When  Clarkson  his  victorious  course  began,* 
Unyielding  in  the  cause  of  God  and  man ; 
Wise,  patient,  persevering  to  tho  end, 
No  guile  could  thwart,  no  power  his  purpose  bend ; 
He  rose  o'er  Afric  like  the  sun  in  smiles, — 
He  rests  in  glory  on  the  western  isles : 
— When  Wilberforee,  the  minister  of  grace, 
The  new  Las  Casas  of  a  ruin'd  race,3 

accuses.  It  may  be  added,  that  he  was  greatly  indebted  to 
him  for  information  as  an  historian  of  the  Indies. 

In  the  numerous  writings  of  Las  Casas  himself,  still  ex- 
tant, there  is  not  one  word  in  favour  of  slavery  of  any  kind, 
but  they  abound  with  reasoning  and  invective  against  it  in 
every  shape ;  and,  among  his  eloquent  appeals  and  compre- 
hensive plans  on  behalf  of  the  oppressed  Indians,  there  is 
not  a  solitary  hint  in  recommendation  of  the  African  Slave 
Trade,  lie  only  twice  mentions  the  Negroes  through  all 
his  multifarious  writings  :  in  one  instance  he  merely  names 
them  as  living  in  the  island  (in  a  manuscript  in  National 
Library  at  Paris):  and  in  the  same  work  he  proposes  no 
other  remedy  for  the  miseries  of  the  aboriginal  inhabitants, 
than  the  suppression  of  the  rqportitni  ntos,  or  divisions  of 
the  people,  with  the  soil  on  which  they  were  born.  In  ano- 
ther memorial,  after  detailing  at  great  length  the  measures 
which  ought  to  be  pursued  for  the  redress  of  the  Indians, 
(the  proper  opportunity  certainly,  to  advocate  the  Negro 
Slave  Trade,  if  he  approved  of  it,)  he  adds,—"  The  Indians 
are  not  more  tormented  by  their  masters  and  tho  different 
public  officers  than  by  their  servants  and  by  the  Xegroes." 

The  original  accusation  of  Las  Casas,  translated  from  the 
words  of  Ilerrera,  is  as  follows:— ••The  licentiate  Bartho- 
lomew Las  Casas,  perceiving  that  his  plans  experienced  on 
all  sides  great  difficulties,  and  that  the  expectations  which 
he  had  formed  from  his  connection  with  the  High  Chan- 
cellor, and  the  favourable  opinion  the  latter  entertained 
of  him,  had  not  produced  any  effect,  projected  other  expe- 
dients, such  as,  to  procure  for  the  Ciutilians  established  in 
the  Indies  a  cargo  of  Negroes  to  relieve  the  Indians  in  the 
culture  of  the  earth  and  the  labour  of  the  mines;  also  to 
obtain  a  great  number  of  working  men  (from  Europe),  who 
should  pass  over  into  those  regions,  with  certain  privileges, 
and  on  certain  conditions,  which  he  detailed." 


Part  IV. 


THE    WEST    INDIES. 


61 


With  angel-might  opposed  the  rage  of  hell, 
And  fought  like  Michael,  till  the  dragon  fell : 

—  When  Pitt,  supreme  amid  the  senate,  rose 
The  Negro's  friend  among  the  Negro's  foes ; 

Yet  while  his  tones  like  heaven's  high  thunder  hroke, 
No  fire  descended  to  consume  the  yoke : 

—  When  Fox,  all-eloquent,  for  freedom  stood, 
With  speech  resistless  as  the  voice  of  hlood, 

The  voice  that  cries  through  all  the  patriot's  veins, 
When  at  his  feet  his  country  groans  in  chains ; 
The  voice  that  whispers  in  the  mother's  hreast, 
When  smiles  her  infant  in  his  rosy  rest; 
Of  power  to  bid  the  storm  of  passion  roll, 
Or  touch  with  sweetest  tenderness  the  soul. 
He  spake  in  vain ;  —  till,  with  his  latest  breath, 
He  broke  the  spell  of  Africa  in  death. 

The  Muse  to  whom  the  lyre  and  lute  belong, 
Whose  song  of  freedom  is  her  noblest  song, 
The  lyre  with  awful  indignation  swept, 
O'er  the  sweet  lute  in  silent  sorrow  wept, 

—  When  Albion's   crimes   drew  thunder  from  her 

tongue, 
— When  Afrie's  woes   o'erwhelm'd  her  while   she 

sung. 
Lamented  Cowper  !  in  thy  path  I  tread! 
0 !  that  on  me  were  thy  meek  spirit  shed  ! 
The  woes  that  wring  my  bosom,  once  were  thine; 
Be  all  thy  virtues,  all  thy  genius,  mine  ! 
Peace  to  thy  soul !  thy  God  my  portion  be; 
And  in  his  presence  may  I  rest  with  thee ! 

Quick  at  the  call  of  Virtue,  Freedom,  Truth, 
Weak  withering  Age  and  strong  aspiring  Youth 
Alike  the  expanding  power  of  Pity  felt ; 
The  coldest,  hardest  hearts  began  to  melt  ; 

Let  this  statement  be  compared  with  Dr.  Robertson's 
most  exaggerated  account,  avowedly  taken  from  Herrera 
alone,  and  let  every  man  judge  for  himself,  whether  one 
of  the  most  zealous  and  indefatigable  advocates  of  freedom 
that  ever  existed,  "  while  he  contended  earnestly  for  the 
liberty  of  tbc  people  born  in  one  quarter  of  the  globe, 
laboured  to  enslave  the  inhabitants  of  another  region,  and, 
in  his  zeal  to  save  the  American  from  the  yoke,  pronounced 
it  to  be  lawful  and  expedient  to  impose  one  still  heavier  on 
the  Africans." — Robertson's  History  of  America,  vol.  i.  part 
3.  But  the  circumstances  connected  by  Dr.  Robertson  with 
this  supposed  scheme  of  Las  Casas  is  unwarranted  by  any 
authority,  and  makes  bis  own  of  no  value.  He  adds  — 
"  The  plan  of  Las  Casas  was  adopted.  Charles  V.  granted 
a  patent  to  one  of  his  Flemish  favourites,  containing  an 
exclusive  right  of  importing  four  thousand  negroes  into 
America."    Ilerrcra,  the  only  author  whom  Dr.  Robertson 


From  breast  to  breast  the  flame  of  justice  glow'd  ; 
Wide  o'er  its  banks  the  Nile  of  mercy  flow'd; 
Through  all  the  isle  the  gradual  waters  swell'd  ; 
Mammon  in  vain  the  encircling  flood  repell'd ; 
O'erthrown  at  length,  like  Pharaoh  and  his  host, 
His  shipwreck'd  hopes  lay  seatter'd  round  the  coast. 

High  on  her  rock  in  solitary  state, 
Sublimely  musing,  pale  Britannia  sate : 
Her  awful  forehead  in  her  spear  reclined, 
Her  robe  and  tresses  streaming  with  the  wind; 
Chill  through  her  frame  foreboding  tremors  crept! 
The  Mother  thought  upon  her  sons,  and  wept. 

—  She  thought  of  Nelson  in  the  battle  slain, 
And  his  last  signal  beaming  o'er  the  main  ; ' 
In  Glory's  circling  arms  the  hero  bled, 
While  Victory  bound  the  laurel  on  his  head; 
At  once  immortal,  in  both  worlds,  became 
His  soaring  spirit  and  abiding  name  ; 

—  She  thought  of  Pitt,  heart-broken  on  his  bier; 
And,  "  0  my  country  !  "  echoed  in  her  ear ; 
—She  thought  of  Fox ;  she  heard  him  faintly  speak, 
His  parting  breath  grew  cold  upon  her  cheek, 

His  dying  accents  trembled  into  air; 

"  Spare  injured  Africa  !  the  Negro  spare  !  " 

She   started  from  her  trance!  —  and,  round  the 
Beheld  her  supplicating  sons  once  more  [shore( 

Pleading  the  suit  so  long,  so  vainly  tried, 
Renew'd,  resisted,  promised,  pledged,  denied, — 
The  Negro's  claim  to  all  his  Maker  gave, 
And  all  the  tyrant  ravish'd  from  the  slave. 
Her  yielding  heart  confess'd  the  righteous  claim, 
Sorrow  had  soften'd  it,  and  love  o'ereame; 
Shame  flush'd  her  noble  cheek,  her  bosom  burn'd; 
To  helpless,  hopeless  Africa  she  turn'd  ; 

pretends  to  follow,  does  not,  in  any  place,  associate  his 
random  charge  against  Las  Casas  with  this  acknowledged 
and  most  infamous  act.  The  crime  of  having  first  recom- 
mended the  importation  of  African  slaves  into  the  Ameri- 
can islands  is  attributed,  by  three  writers  of  the  life  of 
Cardinal  Ximenes  (who  rendered  himself  illustrious  by 
his  opposition  to  the  trade  in  its  infancy),  to  Chitvres,  and 
by  two  others  to  the  Flemish  nobility  themselves,  who  ob- 
tained the  monopoly  aforementioned,  and  which  was  sold 
to  some  "  Genoese  merchants  for  25,000  ducats:  and  they 
were  the  first  who  brought  into  a  regular  form  that  com- 
merce for  slaves,  between  Africa  and  America,  which  has 
since  been  carried  on  to  such  an  amazing  extent."- — It  is 
unnecessary  to  say  more  on  the  subject. — A  translation  of 
Gregoire's  defence  of  Las  Casas  was  published  iu  1803,  by 
S.  D.  Symonds,  Paternoster  Row. 
1  "  England  expects  every  man  to  do  his  duty." 


62 


THE    WEST  INDIES. 


Part  IV. 


She  saw  her  sister  in  the  mourner's  face, 
And  rush'd  with  tears  into  her  dark  embrace :    , 
"All  hail !  "  exclaim'd  the  empress  of  the  sea, — 
"  Thy  chains  are  broken  —  Africa,  be  free  !  " 

Muse  !  take  the  harp  of  prophecy :  —  behold  ! 
The  glories  of  a  brighter  age  unfold  : 
Friends    of   the   outcast!    view   the    accomplish'd 

plan, 
The  Negro  towering  to  the  height  of  man. 
The  blood  of  Romans,  Saxons,  Gauls,  and  Danes, 
Swell'd  the  rich  fountain  of  the  Briton's  veins; 
Unmingled  streams  a  warmer  life  impart, 
And  quicker  pulses  to  the  Negro's  heart : 
A  dusky  race,  beneath  the  evening  sun, 
Shall  blend  their  spousal  currents  into  one. 
Is  beauty  bound  to  colour,  shape,  or  air? 
No;  God  created  all  his  offspring  fair : 
Tyrant  and  slave  their  tribes  shall  never  see, 
For  God  created  all  his  offspring  free  : 
Then  Justice,  leagued  with  Mercy,  from  above, 
Shall  reign  in  all  the  liberty  of  love: 
And  the  sweet  shores  beneath  the  balmy  west 
Again  shall  be  "  the  islands  of  the  blest." 

Unutterable  mysteries  of  fate 
Involve,  0  Africa  !  thy  future  state. 
—  On  Niger's  banks,  in  lonely  beauty  wild, 
A  Negro-mother  carols  to  her  child  : 
"Son  of  my  widow'd  love,  my  orphan  joy! 
Avenge  thy  father's  murder,  0  my  boy  !" 
Along  those  banks  the  fearless  infant  strays, 
Bathes  in  the  stream,  among  the  eddies  plays; 
See  the  boy  bounding  through  the  eager  race ; 
The  fierce  yoxith,  shouting  foremost  in  the  chase, 
Drives  the  grim  lion  from  his  ancient  woods, 
And  smites  the  crocodile  amidst  his  floods  : 
To  giant  strength  in  unshorn  manhood  grown, 
lie  haunts  the  wilderness,  he  dwells  alone. 
A  tigress  with  her  whelps  to  seize  him  sprung; 
He  tears  the  mother,  and  he  tames  the  young 
In  the  drear  cavern  of  their  native  rock  : 
Thither  wild  slaves  and  fell  banditti  flock; 


He  heads  their  hordes ;  they  burst,  like  torrid  rains, 

In  death  and  devastation  o'ei  the  plains; 

Stronger  and  bolder  grows  his  ruffian  band, 

Prouder  his  heart,  more  terrible  his  hand ; 

He  spreads  his  banner  :  crowding  from  afar, 

Innumerable  armies  rush  to  war; 

Resistless  as  the  pillar'd  whirlwinds  fly 

O'er  Libyan  sands  revolving  to  the  sky, 

In  fire  and  wrath  through  every  realm  they  run, 

Where  the  noon-shadow  shrinks  beneath  the  sun; 

Till  at  the  Conqueror's  feet,  from  sea  to  sea, 

A  hundred  nations  bow  the  servile  knee, 

And  throned  in  nature's  unreveal'd  domains, 

The  Jenghis  Khan  of  Africa  he  reigns. 

Dim  through  the  night  of  these  tempestuous  years 
A  Sabbath-dawn  o'er  Africa  appears  : 
Then  shall  her  neck  from  Europe's  yoke  be  freed, 
And  healing  arts  to  hideous  arms  succeed; 
At  home  fraternal  bonds  her  tribes  shall  bind, 
Commerce  abroad  espouse  them  with  mankind; 
While  Truth  shall  build,  and  pure  Religion  bless, 
The  Church  of  God  amidst  the  wilderness. 

Nor  in  the  isles  and  Africa  alone 
Be  the  Redeemer's  cross  and  triumph  known ; 
Father  of  Mercies  !  speed  the  promised  hour ; 
Thy  kingdom  come  with  all-restoring  power; 
Peace,  virtue,  knowledge,  spread  from  pole  to  pole, 
As  round  the  world  the  ocean-waters  roll ! 

—  Hope  waits  the  morning  of  celestial  light; 
Time  plumes  his  wings  for  everlasting  flight; 
Unchanging  seasons  have  their  march  begun  ; 
Millennial  years  are  hastening  to  the  sun  ; 

Seen  through  thick  clouds,  by  Faith's  transpiercing 

eyes, 
The  New  Creation  shines  in  purer  skies. 

—  All  hail !  — the  age  of  crime  and  suffering  ends; 
The  reign  of  righteousness  from  Heaven  descends; 
Vengeance  for  ever  sheathes  the  afflicting  sword; 
Death  is  destroy'd,  and  Paradise  restored  : 

Man,  rising  from  the  ruins  of  his  fall, 
Is  one  with  God,  and  God  is  All  in  All ! 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


63 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD 


A  POEM,  IN  TEN  CANTOS. 


PREFACE. 

The  following  were  the  circumstances  under  which 
"The  World  before  the  Flood"  was  conceived, 
executed,  and  at  length  published. 

The  delay  of  Mr.  Bowyer's  magnificent  work,  in 
passing  through  the  press,  whereby  the  poem  of 
"The  West  Indies"  was  to  be  brought  out,  with 
every  advantage  of  external  dignity  and  illustra- 
tion, preventing  the  Author  from  again  appearing 
before  the  public  as  a  poet,  so  early  as  he  had  in- 
tended, he  naturally  became  somewhat  impatient, 
having,  in  the  interval,  composed  many  minor 
pieces,  which  he  had  reason  to  believe  might  be 
favourably  received  by  those  who  had  not  ceased  to 
call  for  successive  editions  of  "The  Wanderer  of 
Switzerland,"  and  its  accompaniments,  though  the 
three  years  of  its  doubtful  existence,  and  foredoomed 
extinction,  by  the  Edinburg  Reviewers,  had  already 
expired. 

While  in  quest  of  a  theme  for  a  leading  essay, 
the  sudden  recollection  of  the  following  passage  in 
the  eleventh  book  of  Paradise  Lost,  referring  to  the 
translation  of  Enoch,  at  once  determined  his  choice. 
After  briefly  alluding  to  the  building  of  the  first 
cities,  the  origin  of  war,  battles,  sieges,  devastations, 
the  prowess  and  achievements  of  the  earliest  heroes, 

"Giants  of  mighty  bone  and  bold  emprise," 
the  vision,  opened   into   futurity   by   Michael   the 
Archangel  to  fallen  Adam,  is  described  as  present- 
ing this  scene :  — 

"  In  other  part  the  sceptred  heralds  call 
To  council,  in  the  city-gates;  —  anon, 
Grey-headed  men  and  grave,  with  warriors  mix'd, 
Assemble,  and  harangues  are  heard ;  but  soon 
In  factious  opposition ;  till  at  last 
Of  middle  age  one  rising,  eminent 
In  wise  deport,  spake  much  of  right  and  wrong, 
Of  justice,  of  religion,  truth  and  peace, 
And  judgment  from  above.    Him  old  and  young 
Exploded,  and  had  seized  with  violent  hands, 
Had  not  a  cloud  descending  snatch'd  him  thence, 


Unseen  amid  the  throng;  so  violence 
Proceeded,  and  oppression,  and  sword-law, 
Through  all  the  plain,  and  refuge  none  was  found." 

In  the  course  of  a  few  months,  the  plan,  thus 
suddenly  conceived,  was  diligently  elaborated,  and 
the  whole  comprised  in  the  space  of  four  cantos. 
The  copy  was  then  despatched  to  the  Author's  late 
friend,  Daniel  Parken,  Esq.  of  Lincoln's  Inn,  who 
had  just  been  called  to  the  bar,  and  in  whose  fine 
taste  and  sound  judgment  ho  had  good  reason  to 
repose  the  highest  confidence.  Anticipating  no  seri- 
ous hinderance,  this  gentleman  was  requested,  after 
perusal,  to  deliver  the  Poem  to  Messrs.  Longman 
and  Co.  for  immediate  publication,  with  such  other 
compositions  as  should  be  forwarded  in  due  time. 
Accordingly  Mr.  Parken  read  and  approved  of  the 
performance  so  much  as  to  think  it  worth  mending, 
and  capable  of  being  greatly  mended,  because  the 
Author  had  not  done  justice  either  to  himself  or  to 
his  theme  in  so  contracted  a  compass.  Wherefore, 
with  a  courage  and  candour  not  often  hazarded  by 
one  friend  towards  another,  in  an  affair  of  peculiar 
delicacy,  where  the  most  jealous  of  personal  feelings 
must  of  necessity  be  wounded,  how  tenderly  soever 
the  sensitive  operation  may  be  performed, — he  ad- 
dressed a  brief  but  earnest  letter  to  his  correspondent, 
imploring  permission  to  detain  the  manuscript  a  few 
days  longer,  before  he  consigned  it  to  the  book- 
sellers for  the  press,  till  the  Author  himself  had 
given  further  consideration  to  the  subject,  with  a 
view  of  bringing  out  its  latent  capabilities  more 
effectually  than  had  been  attempted  in  the  draft,  or 
rather  in  the  sketch,  which  had  been  sent  to  him. 

This  was  touching  the  apple  of  a  Poet's  eye,  while 
in  the  act  of  self-complacently  gazing  on  his  new- 
born offspring,  before  the  fondness  of  paternal  affec- 
tion had  detected  a  fault  or  a  failing  about  it.  The 
pain  inflicted  was  excruciating  for  a  few  hours,  and 
arose  not  more  from  mortified  vanity  than  from 
the  disappointment  of  "hope  deferred"  (which  had 


64 


TIIE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


previously  "made  the  heart  sick")  by  this  unex- 
pected frustration  of  a  cherished  purpose  to  appeal 
a  second  time  before  the  public",  at  the  very  moment 
when,  instead  of  being  fulfilled,  "the  desire,"  which 
"when  it  Cometh  is  a  tree  of  life,"  was  thus  cut 
down  to  the  ground,  and  the  root  alone  spared  to 
shoot  up  and  grow  under  long  and  laborious  culture, 
into  "a  plant  of  renown." 

But  Mr.  Parken  having  shown  him  so  heroic  a 
proof  of  disinterested  kindness — after  a  due  struggle 
with  himself,  during  an  afternoon's  ramble  in  the 
fields  and  woods  adjacent — the  Author  determined 
not  to  be  outdone  by  his  adviser  in  magnanimity, 
but  to  give  him  in  return  a  corresponding  token  of 
genuine  friendship,  by  unreservedly  bowing  to  his 
judgment,  and  adopting  his  counsel. 

Having  once  surrendered  the  point  of  hasty  pub- 
lication, he  further  resolved,  as  the  manuscript  was 
in  London,  to  submit  it  to  the  examination  of  four 
other  authorities  in  the  small  range  of  his  literary 
acquaintance.  By  each  of  these,  after  indulgent 
perusal,  it  was  returned  with  notes  and  comments 
freely  and  ingenuously  expressed,  but  of  course  not 
altogether  accordant.  Sufficient  commendation, 
however,  was  bestowed  by  all  on  the  performance 
at  large,  and  sufficient  diversity  of  opinion  mani- 
fested on  a  multitude  of  passages  (the  praises  and 
the  strictures  reciprocally  qualifying  each  other),  to 
convince  himself,  at  least,  that,  with  all  deference 
to  them,  the  Author  was  as  competent  a  judge  of  his 
own  performance  as  any  of  his  courteous  critics ; 
much  as  he  was  benefited  by  their  respective  hints 
for  the  improvement  of  the  text  of  his  poem,  as  it 
then  stood,  though  none  had  suggested  either  in- 
cident or  alteration  in  the  plot  for  its  better  deve- 
lopment. 

Meanwhile,  "TnE  West  Indies"  came  out  in  all 
the  glory  of  typography  and  pictorial  embellish- 
ment, and  was  well  received  by  the  public  After 
an  interval  of  six  months,  according  to  contract  with 
Mr.  Bowyer,  that  poem  being  republished  with  such 
miscellaneous  pieces  as  had  accumulated  upon  his 
hands  since  the  appearance  of  his  former  volume, 
the  Author  set  himself  resolutely  to  the  task  of  re- 
modelling "The  World  before  TnE  Flood;" 
and,  in  the  course  of  doing  so,  every  day  he  felt 
himself  more  and  more  indebted  to  tho  faithful 
advice  of  that  friend  who  had  rescued  it  from  pre- 
mature publication,  when  in  all  probability  an 
untimely  birth  would  have  been  to  it  tho  premoni- 


tion of  untimely  death.  To  him,  therefore,  portions 
of  the  new  poem  were  transmitted  in  its  progress ; 
and  these  were  so  generously  appreciated,  that  each 
in  its  turn  was  welcomed  as  a  pledge  of  better 
things  to  follow  to  the  end.  But  in  the  month  of 
July,  1812,  when  tho  work  was  about  midway 
accomplished,  "  the  days  of  his  (friend's)  youth 
were  shortened,"  and  he  lived  no  longer  on  earth, 
except  in  the  affections  of  his  kindred,  and  tho 
memory  of  his  associates;  —  in  these  he  cannot  die 
while  either  of  them  survive. 

This  brief  statement  will  render  more  intelligible 
than  they  have  hitherto  been  certain  allusions  in 
the  introductory  stanzas,  addressed  "To  the  Spirit 
of  a  departed  Friend." 

October  10, 1S10. 


TnE  ORIGINAL  PREFACE. 

TnERE  is  no  authentic  history  of  the  world  from 
the  Creation  to  tho  Deluge,  besides  that  which  is 
found  in  the  first  chapters  of  Genesis.  He,  there- 
fore, who  fixes  the  date  of  a  fictitious  narrative 
within  that  period,  is  under  obligation  to  no  other 
authority  whatever  for  conformity  of  manners, 
events,  or  even  localities :  he  has  full  power  to 
accommodate  these  to  his  peculiar  purposes,  ob- 
serving only  such  analogy  as  shall  consist  with  the 
brief  information,  contained  in  the  sacred  records, 
concerning  mankind  in  the  earliest  ages.  The  pre- 
sent writer  acknowledges,  that  he  has  exercised  this 
undoubted  right  with  great  freedom.  Success  alone 
sanctions  bold  innovation :  if  he  has  succeeded  in 
what  he  has  attempted,  he  will  need  no  arguments 
to  justify  it ;  if  he  has  miscarried,  none  will  avail 
him.  Those  who  imagine  that  he  has  exhibited  the 
antediluvians  as  more  skilful  in  arts  and  arms  than 
can  be  supposed  in  their  stage  of  society,  may  read 
the  Eleventh  Book  of  Paradise  Lost;  —  and  those 
who  think  he  has  made  the  religion  of  the  Patriarchs 
too  evangelical,  may  read  the  Tieclfth. 

With  respect  to  the  personages  and  incidents  of 
his  story,  the  Author  having  deliberately  adopted 
them,  under  the  conviction,  that  in  the  characters 
of  the  one  he  was  not  stepping  out  of  human  nature, 
and  in  the  construction  of  the  other  not  exceeding 
the  limits  of  poetical  probability,  —  ho  asks  no 
favour,  he  deprecates  no  censure,  on  behalf  of  either; 


TIIF.  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


65 


nor  shall  the  facility  with  which  "much  malice  ami 
a  little  wit"  might  turn  into  ridicule  every  line  that 
he  has  written,  deter  him  from  leaving  the  whole  to 
the  mercy  of  general  readers. 

But, —  here  is  a  large  web  of  fiction  involving  a 
small  fact  of  Scripture !  Nothing  could  justify  a 
work  of  this  kind,  if  it  were,  in  any  way,  calculated 
to  impose  on  the  credulity,  pervert  the  principles,  or 
corrupt  the  affections,  of  its  approvers.  Here,  then, 
the  appeal  lies  to  conscience  rather  than  to  taste ; 
and  the  decision  on  this  point  is  of  infinitely  more 
importance  to  the  Poet  than  his  name  among  men, 
or  his  interests  on  earth.  It  was  his  design,  in  this 
composition,  to  present  a  similitude  of  events,  that 
might  be  imagined  to  have  happened  in  the  first  age 
of  the  world,  in  which  such  Scripture-characters 
as  are  introduced  would  probably  have  acted  and 
spoken  as  they  are  here  made  to  act  and  speak. 
The  story  is  told  as  a  parable  only;  and  its  value, 
in  this  view,  must  be  determiued  by  its  moral,  or 
rather  by  its  religious,  influence  on  the  mind  and  on 
the  heart.  Fiction  though  it  be,  it  is  the  fiction  that 
represents  Truth  ;  and  that  is  Truth, —  Truth  in  the 
essence,  though  not  in  the  name;  Truth  in  the  spirit, 
though  not  in  the  letter. 
February  G,  1813. 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  A  DEPARTED  FRIEND. 

Many,  my  friend,  have  mourn'd  for  Thee, 

And  yet  shall  many  mourn, 

Long  as  thy  name  on  earth  shall  be 

In  sweet  remembrance  borne, 

By  those  who  loved  Thee  here,  and  love 

Thy  Spirit  still  in  realms  above. 

For  while  thine  absence  they  deplore, 
'Tis  for  themselves  they  weep  : 
Though  they  behold  thy  face  no  more, 
In  peace  thine  ashes  sleep, 
And  o'er  the  tomb  they  lift  their  eye, 

—  Thou  art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die. 
In  silent  anguish,  0  my  friend  ! 
When  I  recall  thy  worth, 
Thy  lovely  life,  thine  early  end, 
I  feel  estranged  from  earth  ; 


My  soul  with  thine  desires  to  rest, 
Supremely  and  for  ever  blest. 

In  loftier  mood  I  fain  would  raise 
With  my  victorious  breath 
Some  fair  memorial  of  thy  praise, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  Death ; 
Proud  wish,  and  vain  !  —  I  cannot  give 
The  word,  that  makes  the  dead  to  live. 

Tuou  art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die; 

To  nobler  life  new-born, 

Thou  look'st  in  pity  from  the  sky 

Upon  a  world  forlorn, 

Where  glory  is  but  dying  flame, 

And  immortality  a  name. 

Yet  didst  Thou  prize  the  Poet's  art; 

And  when  to  Thee  I  sung, 

How  pure,  how  fervent  from  the  heart, 

The  language  of  thy  tongue  ! 

In  praise  or  blame  alike  sincere, 

But  still  most  kind  when  most  severe. 

When  first  this  dream  of  ancient  times, 

Warm  on  my  fancy  glow'd, 

And  forth  in  rude  spontaneous  rhymes 

The  Song  of  Wonder  flow'd ; 

Pleased  but  alarm'd,  I  saw  Thee  stand, 

And  check'd  the  fury  of  my  hand. 

That  hand  with  awe  resumed  the  lyre, 

I  trembled,  doubted,  fear'd, 

Then  did  thy  voice  my  hope  inspire, 

My  soul  thy  presence  cheer'd ; 

But  suddenly  the  light  was  flown, — 

I  look'd,  and  found  myself  alone  ! 

Alone,  in  sickness,  care,  and  woe, 

Since  that  bereaving  day, 

With  heartless  patience,  faint  and  low, 

I  trill'd  the  secret  lay, 

Afraid  to  trust  the  bold  design 

To  less  indulgent  ears  than  thine. 

'Tis  done; — nor  would  I  dread  to  meet 

The  world's  repulsive  brow, 

Had  I  presented  at  thy  feet 

The  Muse's  trophy  now, 

And  gain'd  the  smile  I  long'd  to  gain, 

The  pledge  of  labour  not  in  vain. 


66 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  I. 


Full  well  I  know,  If  Thou  wert  here, 

A  pilgrim  still  with  me,— 

Dear  as  my  theme  was  once,  and  dear 

As  I  was  once  to  Thee, — 

Too  mean  to  yield  Thee  pure  delight, 

The  strains  that  now  the  world  invite  : 

Yet  could  they  reach  Thee  where  thou  art, 

And  sounds  might  Spirits  move, 

Their  better,  their  diviner  part, 

Thou  surely  wouldst  approve; 

Though  heavenly  thoughts  are  all  thy  joy, 

And  Angel-Songs  thy  tongue  employ. 

My  task  is  o'er;  and  I  have  wrought 
With  self-rewarding  toil, 
To  raise  the  scatter'd  seeds  of  thought 
Upon  a  desert  soil : 

0  for  soft  winds  and  element  showers ! 

1  seek  not  fruit,— I  planted  flowers. 
Those  flowers  I  train'd,  of  many  a  hue, 
Along  thy  path  to  bloom; 

And  little  thought,  that  I  must  strew 
Their  leaves  upon  thy  tomb  : 
—  Beyond  that  tomb  I  lift  mine  eye, 
Thou  art  not  dead,  Thou  couldst  not  die. 
Farewell :  but  not  a  long  farewell ! 
In  heaven  may  I  appear, 
The  trials  of  my  faith  to  tell 
In  thy  transported  ear, 
And  sing  with  Thee  the  eternal  strain, 
••  Worthy  the  Lamb  that  once  was  slain.' 
Sheffield,  January  23, 1813. 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 


and  there  converted  into  a  barren  isle,  implies  such 
a  change  in  the  water-courses  as  will,  poetically  at 
least,  account  for  the  difference  between  the  scene 
of  this  story  and  the  present  face  of  the  country  at 
the  point  where   the   Tigris   and  Euphrates  meet. 
On   the   eastern  side  of   these  waters,  the   Author 
supposes  the  descendants  of  the  younger  children 
of  Adam  to  dwell,  possessing  the  land  of  Eden  ;  the 
rest  of  the  world  having  been  gradually  colonised 
by  emigrants  from  these,  or  peopled  by  the  posterity 
of  Cain.     In  process  of  time,  after  the  Sons  of  God 
had  formed  connexions  with  the  daughters  of  men, 
and  there  were  Giants  in  the  earth,  the  latter  as- 
sumed to  be  Lords  and  Rulers  over  mankind,  till 
among   themselves    arose    One,    excelling    all    his 
brethren    in    knowledge    and    power,   who    became 
their  King,  and  by  their  aid,  in  the  course  of  a  Long 
life,   subdued  all   the  inhabited   earth,   except   the 
lan'd  of  Eden.     This  land,  at  the  head  of  a  mighty 
army,  principally  composed  of  the  descendanl 
Cain,  he  has  invaded  and  conquered,  even  to  the 
banks  of  Euphrates,  at  the  opening  of  the  action  of 
the  Poem.     It  is  only  necessary  to  add,  that,  for 
the  sake  of  distinction,  the  invaders  are  frequently 
denominated  from  Cain,  as  "the  host  of  Cain;"— 
"the  force  of  Cain,"— "  the  camp  of  Cain;"— and 
the  remnant  of  the  defenders  of  Eden  arc,  in  like 
manner,  denominated  from  Eden— The  Jews  have 
an  ancient  tradition,  that   some  of  the  Giants,  at 
the  Deluge,  fled  to  the  top  of  a  high  mountain,  and 
escaped  the  ruin   that   involved  the   rest   of  their 
kindred.     In  the  tenth  canto  of  the  following  Poem, 
a  hint  is   borrowed  from   this    tradition,  but    it   is 
made  to  yield  to  the  superior  authority  of  Scripture- 
testimony. 


No  place  having  been  found,  in  Asia,  to  correspond 
exactly  with  the  Mosaic  description  of  the  site  of 
Paradise,  the  Author  of  the  following  Poem  has 
disregarded  both  the  learned  and  the  absurd  hypo- 
thesea  on  the  subject;  and  at  once  imagining  an 
inaccessible  tract  of  land  at  the  confluence  of  four 
rivers,  which  after  their  junction  takes  the  name  of 
the  largest,  and  become  the  Euphrates  of  the  anetent 
world,  he  has  placed  "the  happy  garden"  there. 
Milton's  noble  fiction  of  the  Mount  of  Paradise 
being  removed  by  the  Deluge,  and  pnsh'd 

"  Down  the  great  rirer  to  the  opening  gulf," 


THE  TOLD  BEFORE  THE  ELOOD. 

CANTO    FIRST. 
The  Invasion  of  Eden  by  the  Descendants  of  Cain. 
The  Flight  of  Javan  from    the   Camp  of  the  In- 
vadert  to  the  Valleg  where  the  Patriarchs  dwell. 
The  Story  of  Javan' a  former  Life. 
Eastward  of  Eden's  early  peopled  plain, 
When  Abel  perish'd  by  the  hand  of  Cain, 
The  murderer  from  his  Judge's  presence  fled : 
Thence  to  the  rising  sun  his  offspring  spread; 


Canto  I. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


67 


But  be,  the  fugitive  of  care  and  guilt, 

Forsook  the  haunts  he  chose,  the  homes  he  built; 

While  filial  nations  hail'd  him  Sire  and  Chief, 

Empire  nor  honour  brought  his  soul  relief; 

He  found,  where'er  he  roain'd,  uncheer'd,  unblest, 

No  pause  from  suffering,  and  from  toil  no  rest. 

Ages,  meanwhile,  as  ages  now  are  told, 
O'er  the  young  world  in  long  succession  roll'd; 
For  such  the  vigour  of  primeval  man, 
Through  number'd  centuries  his  period  ran, 
And  the  first  Parents  saw  their  hardy  race, 
O'er  the  green  wilds  of  habitable  space, 
By  tribes  and  kindred,  scatter'd  wide  and  far, 
Beneath  the  track  of  every  varying  star. 
But  as  they  multiplied  from  clime  to  clime, 
Embolden'd  by  their  elder  brother's  crime, 
They  spurn'd  obedience  to  the  Patriarchs'  yoke, 
The  bonds  of  Nature's  fellowship  they  broke; 
The  weak  became  the  victims  of  the  strong, 
And  Earth  was  fill'd  with  violence  and  wrong. 

Yet  long  on  Eden's  fair  and  fertile  plain 
A  righteous  nation  dwelt,  that  knew  not  Cain  ; 
There,  fruits  and  flowers,  in  genial  light  and  dew, 
Luxuriant  vines,  and  golden  harvests,  grew; 
By  freshening  waters  flocks  and  cattle  stray'd, 
While  Youth  and  Childhood  watch'd  them  from  the 

shade ; 
Age,  at  his  fig-tree,  rested  from  his  toil, 
And  manly  vigour  till" J.  the  unfailing  soil; 
Green  sprang  the  turf,  by  holy  footsteps  trod, 
Round  the  pure  altars  of  the  living  God; 
Till  foul  Idolatry  those  altars  stain'd, 
And  lust  and  revelry  through  Eden  reign'd. 
Then  fled  the  people's  glory  and  defence, 
The  joys  of  home,  the  peace  of  innocence; 
Sin  brought  forth  sorrows  in  perpetual  birth, 
And  the  last  light  from  Heaven  forsook  the  earth, 
Save  in  one  forest-glen,  remote  and  wild, 
Where  yet  a  ray  of  lingering  mercy  smiled, 
Their  quiet  course  where  Seth  and  Enoch  ran, 
And  God  and  Angels  deign'd  to  walk  with  man. 

Now  from  the  east,  supreme  in  arts  and  arms, 
The  tribes  of  Cain,  awakening  war-alarms, 
Full  in  the  spirit  of  their  father,  came 
To  waste  their  brethren's  lands  with  sword  and  flame. 
In  vain  the  younger  race  of  Adam  rose, 
With  force  unequal,  to  repel  their  foes  ; 


Their  fields  in  blood,  their  homes  in  ruins,  lay, 
Their  whole  inheritance  became  a  prey ; 
The  stars,  to  whom  as  gods  they  raised  their  cry, 
Roll'd,  heedless  of  their  offerings,  through  the  sky  ; 
Till,  urged  on  Eden's  utmost  bounds  at  length, 
In  fierce  despair,  they  rallied  all  their  strength. 
They  fought,  but  they  were  vanquish'd  in  the  fight, 
Captured,  or  slain,  or  scatter'd  in  the  flight : 
The  morning  battle-scene  at  eve  was  spread 
With  ghastly  heaps,  the  dying  and  the  dead: 
The  dead  unmourn'd,  unburied  left  to  lie ; 
By  friends  and  foes,  the  dying  left  to  die. 
The  victim,  while  he  groan'd  his  soul  away, 
Heard  the  gaunt  vulture  hurrying  to  his  prey, 
Then  strengthless  felt  the  ravening  beak,  that  tore 
His  widen'd  wounds,  and  drank  the  living  gore. 

One  sole  surviving  remnant,  void  of  fear, 
Woods  in  their  front,  Euphrates  in  their  rear, 
Were  sworn  to  perish  at  a  glorious  cost, 
For  all  they  once  had  known,  and  loved,  and  lost; 
A  small,  a  brave,  and  melancholy  band, 
The  orphans  and  the  childless  of  the  land. 
The  hordes  of  Cain,  by  giant-chieftains  led, 
Wide  o'er  the  north  their  vast  encampment  spread : 
A  broad  and  sunny  champaign  stretch'd  between  ; 
Westward  a  maze  of  waters  girt  the  scene; 
There  on  Euphrates,  in  its  ancient  course, 
Three  beauteous  rivers  roll'd  their  confluent  force. 
Whose  streams,  while  man  the  blissful  garden  trod, 
Adorn'd  the  earthly  paradise  of  Gor>; 
But  since  he  fell,  within  their  triple  bound, 
Fenced  a  lone  region  of  forbidden  ground  ; 
Meeting  at  once,  where  high  athwart  their  bed 
Repulsive  rocks  a  curving  barrier  spread, 
The  embattled  floods,  by  mutual  whirlpools  crost, 
In  hoary  foam  and  surging  mist  were  lost; 
Thence,  like  an  Alpine  cataract  of  snow, 
White  down  the  precipice  they  dash'd  below; 
There,  in  tumultuous  billows  broken  wide, 
They  spent  their  rage,  and  yoked  their  fourfold  tide; 
Through  one  majestic  channel,  calm  and  free, 
The  sister-rivers  sought  the  parent-sea. 

The  midnight  watch  was  ended  ;  —  down  the  west 
The  glowing  moon  declined  towards  her  rest; 
Through  either  host  the  voice  of  war  was  dumb; 
In  dreams  the  hero  won  the  fight  to  come; 
No  sound  was  stirring,  save  the  breeze  that  bore 
The  distant  cataract's  everlasting  roar, 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  I. 


When,  from  the  tents  of  Cain,  a  Youth  withdrew; 

Secret  and  swift,  from  post  to  post  he  flew, 

And  pass'd  the  camp  of  Eden,  while  the  dawn 

Gleam'd  faintly  o'er  the  interjacent  lawn  ; 

Skirting  the  forest,  cautiously  and  slow, 

He  fear'd  at  every  step  to  start  a  foe ; 

Oft  leap'd  the  hare  across  his  path,  up  sprung 

The  lark  beneath  his  feet,  and  soaring  sung; 

What  time,  o'er  eastern  mountains  seen  afar, 

With  golden  splendour  rose  the  morning-star, 

As  if  an  Angel-sentinel  of  night, 

From  earth  to  Heaven  had  wing'd  his  homeward 

flight- 
Glorious  at  first,  hut  lessening  by  the  way, 
And  lost  insensibly  in  higher  day. 

From  track  of  man  and  herd  his  path  he  chose, 
Where  high  the  grass,  and  thick  the  copsewood  rose ; 
Then  by  Euphrates'  banks  his  course  inclined, 
Where  the  grey  willows  tremble  to  the  wind ; 
With  toil  and  pain  their  humid  shade  he  clear'd 
When  at  the  porch  of  Heaven  the  sun  appear'd, 
Through  gorgeous  clouds  that  streak'd  the   orient 

sky, 
And  kindled  into  glory  at  his  eye; 
While  dark  amidst  the  dews  that  glitter'd  round, 
From  rock  and  tree,  long  shadows  traced  the  ground. 
Then  climb'd  the  fugitive  an  airy  height, 
And,  resting,  back  o'er  Eden  east  his  sight. 

Far  on  the  left,  to  man  for  ever  closed, 
The  Mount  of  Paradise  in  clouds  reposed : 
The  gradual  landscape  open'd  to  his  view ; 
From  Nature's  face  the  veil  of  mist  withdrew, 
And  left,  in  clear  and  purple  light  reveal'd, 
The  radiant  river,  and  the  tented  field; 
The  black  pine-forest,  in  whose  girdle  lay 
The  patriot  phalanx,  hemm'd  in  close  array; 
The  verdant  champaign  narrowing  to  the  north, 
Whence  from  their  dusky  quarters  sallied  forth 
The  proud  Invaders,  early  roused  to  fight, 
Tribe  after  tribe  emerging  into  light ; 
Whose  shields  and  lances,  in  the  golden  beams, 
Flash' d  o'er  the  restless  scene  their  flickering  gleams. 
As  when  the  breakers  cateh  the  morning  glow, 
And  ocean  rolls  in  living  fire  below  ; 
So,  round  the  unbroken  border  of  the  wood, 
The  Giants  pour'd  their  army  like  a  flood, 
Eager  to  force  the  covert  of  their  foe, 
And  lay  the  last  defence  of  Eden  low. 


From  that  safe  eminence,  absorb'd  in  thought, 
Even  till  the  wind  the  shout  of  legions  brought, 
He    gazed,  — his    heart    recoil'd,  — he    turn'd    his 

head, 
And  o'er  the  southern  hills  his  journey  sped. 

Who  was  the  fugitive?  — In  infancy 
A  youthful  Mother's  only  hope  was  he, 
Whose  spouse  and  kindred,  on  a  festal  day, 
Precipitate  destruction  swept  away  ; 
Earth  trembled,  open'd,  and  entomb'd  them  all; 
She  saw  them  sinking,  heard  their  voices  call 
Beneath  the  gulf,— and  agonized,  aghast, 
On  the  wild  verge  of  eddying  ruin  cast, 
Felt  in  one  pang,  at  that  convulsive  close, 
A  Widow's  anguish,  and  a  Mother's  throes : 
A  Babe  sprang  forth,  an  inauspicious  birth, 
Where  all  had  perish'd  that  she  loved  on  earth. 
Forlorn  and  helpless,  on  the  upriven  ground, 
The  parent,  with  her  offspring,  Enoch  found ; 
And  thence,  with  tender  care  and  timely  aid. 
Home  to  the  Patriarchs'  glen  his  charge  convey'd. 

Restored  to  life,  one  pledge  of  former  joy, 
One  source  of  bliss  to  come,  remain'd,— her  boy ! 
Sweet  in  her  eye  the  cherish'd  infant  rose, 
At  once  the  seal  and  solace  of  her  woes. 
When  the  pale  widow  clasp'd  him  to  her  breast, 
Warm  gush'd  the  tears,  and  would  not  be  represt : 
In  lonely  anguish,  when  the  truant  child 
Leap'd  o'er  the  threshold,  all  the  mother  smiled. 
In  him,  while  fond  imagination  view'd 
Husband  and  parents,  brethren,  friends  renew'd, 
Each  vanish'd  look,  each  well-romember'd  grace, 
That  pleased  in  them,  she  sought  in  Javan's  face; 
For  quick  his  eye,  and  changeable  its  ray, 
As  the  sun  glancing  through  a  vernal  day; 
And,  like  the  lake  by  storm  or  moonlight  seen, 
With  darkening  furrows  or  cerulean  mien, 
His  countenance,  the  mirror  of  his  breast, 
The  calm  or  trouble  of  his  soul  cxpress'd. 

As  years  enlarged  his  form,  in  moody  hours 
His  mind  betray'd  its  weakness  with  its  powers. 
Alike  his  fairest  hopes  and  strangest  fears 
Were  nursed  in  silence,  or  divulged  with  tears  : 
The  fulness  of  his  heart  repress'd  his  tongue, 
Though  none  might  rival  Javan  when  he  sung. 
He  loved,  in  lonely  indolence  reclined, 
To  watch  the  clouds,  and  listen  to  the  wind, 


Canto  I. 


THE  WORLD   BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


G9 


Cut  from  the  north  when  snow  and  tempest  came, 

His  nobler  spirit  mounted  into  flame; 

With  stern  delight  he  roam'd  the  howling  woods, 

Or  hung  in  ecstasy  o'er  headlong  floods 

Meanwhile,  excursive  fancy  long'd  to  view 

The  world,  which  yet  by  fame  alone  he  knew  ; 

The  joys  of  freedom  were  his  daily  theme, 

Glory  the  secret  of  his  midnight  dream  : 

That  dream  he  told  not ;   though  his  heart  would 

ache. 
His  home  was  precious  for  his  mother's  sake. 
With  her  the  lowly  paths  of  peace  he  ran, 
His  guardian  angel,  till  he  verged  to  man; 
But  when  her  weary  eye  could  watch  no  more, 
When  to  the  grave  her  timeless  corse  he  bore, 
Not  Enoch's  counsels  could  his  steps  restrain ; 
He  fled,  and  sojourn'd  in  the  land  of  Cain. 
There,  when  he  heard  the  voice  of  Jubal's  lyre, 
Instinctive  genius  caught  the  ethereal  fire ; 
And  soon,  with  sweetly-modulating  skill, 
He  learn'd  to  wind  the  passions  at  his  will, 
To  rule  the  chords  with  such  mysterious  art, 
They  seem'd  the  life-strings  of  the  hearer's  heart. 
Then  Glory's  opening  field  he  proudly  trod, 
Forsook  the  worship  and  the  ways  of  God; 
Round  the  vain  world  pursued  the  phantom  Fame, 
And  cast  away  his  birthright  for  a  name. 

Yet  no  delight  the  Minstrel's  bosom  knew, — 
None  save  the  tones  that  from  his  harp  he  drew, 
And  the  warm  visions  of  a  wayward  mind, 
Whose  transient  splendour  left  a  gloom  behind, 
Frail  as  the  clouds  of  sunset,  and  as  fair, 
Pageants  of  light  resolving  into  air. 
The  world,  whose  charms  his  young  affections  stole, 
He  found  too  mean  for  an  immortal  soul ; 
Wound  with  his  life,  through  all  his  feelings  wrought 
Death  and  eternity  possess'd  his  thought ; 
Remorse  impell'd  him,  unremitting  care 
Harass'd  his  path,  and  stung  him  to  despair. 
Still  was  the  secret  of  his  griefs  unknown, 
Amidst  the  universe  he  sigh'd  alone; 
The  fame  he  follow 'd  and  the  fame  he  found, 
Heal'd  not  his  heart's  immedicable  wound  ; 
Admired,  applauded,  erown'd,  where'er  he  roved, 
The  Bard  was  homeless,  friendless,  unbeloved. 
All  else  that  breathed  below  the  circling  sky, 
Were  link'd  to  earth  by  some  endearing  tie  ; 
He  only,  like  the  ocean-weed  uptorn, 
And  loose  along  the  world  of  waters  borne, 


Was  cast  companionless,  from  wave  to  wave, 
On  life's  rough  sea,— and  there  was  none  to  save. 

The  Giant  King,  who  led  the  hosts  of  Cain, 
Delighted  in  the  Minstrel  and  his  vein; 
No  hand,  no  voice,  like  Javan's  could  control, 
With  soothing  concords,  his  tempestuous  soul. 
With  him  the  wandering  Bard,  who  found  no  rest 
Through  ten  years'  exile,  sought  his  native  west; 
There  from  the  camp  retiring,  he  pursued 
His  journey  to  the  Patriarchs'  solitude. 
This  son  of  peace  no  martial  armour  wore ; 
A  scrip  for  food,  a  staff  in  hand,  he  bore; 
Flaxen  his  robe ;  and  o'er  his  shoulder  hung, 
Broad  as  a  warrior's  shield,  his  harp  unstrung, 
A  shell  of  tortoise,  exquisitely  wrought 
With  hieroglyphics  of  embodied  thought; 
Jubal  himself  enchased  the  polish'd  frame  ; 
And  Javan  won  it  in  the  strife  for  fame, 
Among  the  sons  of  Music,  when  their  Sire 
To  his  victorious  skill  adjudged  the  lyre. 

'Twasnoon,  when  Javan  climb'd  the  bordering  hill, 
By  many  an  old  remembrance  hallow'd  still, 
Whence  he  beheld,  by  sloping  woods  enclosed, 
The  hamlet  where  his  Parent's  dust  reposed, 
His  home  of  happiness  in  early  years, 
And  still  the  home  of  all  his  hopes  and  fears, 
When,  from  ambition  struggling  to  break  free, 
He  mused  on  joys  and  sorrows  yet  to  be. 
Awhile  he  stood,  with  rumination  pale, 
Casting  an  eye  of  sadness  o'er  the  vale, 
When,  suddenly  abrupt,  spontaneous  prayer 
Burst  from  his  lips  for  One  who  sojourn'd  there  ; 
For  One,  whose  cottage,  far  appearing,  drew 
Even  from  his  Mother's  grave,  his  transient  view : 
One,  whose  unconscious  smiles  were  wont  to  dart 
Ineffable  emotion  through  his  heart; 
A  nameless  sympathy,  more  sweet,  more  dear 
Than  friendship,  solaced  him  when  she  was  near. 
And  well  he  guess'd,  while  yet  a  timorous  boy, 
That  Javan's  artless  songs  were  Zillah's  joy. 
But  when  ambition,  with  a  fiercer  flame 
Than  untold  love,  had  fired  his  soul  for  fame, 
This  infant  passion,  cherish'd  yet  represt, 
Lived  in  his  pulse,  but  died  within  his  breast; 
For  oft  in  distant  lands,  when  hope  beat  high, 
Westward  he  turn'd  his  eager  glistening  eye, 
And  gazed  in  spirit  on  her  absent  form, 
Fair  as  the  moon  emerging  through  the  storm, 


70 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  II. 


Till  sudden,  strange,  bewildering  horrors  cross'd 
His  thought, —  and  every  glimpse  of  joy  was  lost. 
Even  then,  when  melancholy  numb'd  his  brain, 
And  life  itself  stood  still  in  every  vein, 
While  his  cold,  quivering  lips  sent  vows  above, 

—  Never  to  curse  her  with  his  bitter  love  ! 
His  heart,  espoused  with  hers,  in  secret  sware 
To  hold  its  truth  unshaken  by  despair ; 

The  vows  dispersed  that  from  those  lips  were  borne, 

But  never,  never,  was  that  heart  forsworn  ; 

Throughout  the  world,  the  charm  of  Zillah's  name 

Repell'd  the  touch  of  every  meaner  flame. 

Jealous  and  watchful  of  the  Sex's  wiles, 

He  trembled  at  the  light  of  Woman's  smiles  ! 

So  turns  the  mariner's  mistrusting  eye 

From  proud  Orion  bending  through  the  sky, 

Beauteous  and  terrible,  who  shines  afar, 

At  once  the  brightest  and  most  baneful  star.1 

Where  Javan  from  the  eastern  hill  survey'd 
The  circling  forest  and  embosom'd  glade, 
Earth  wore  one  summer-robe  of  living  green, 
In  heaven's  blue  arch  the  sun  alone  was  seen; 
Creation  slumber'd  in  the  cloudless  light, 
And  noon  was  silent  as  the  depth  of  night. 
0  what  a  throng  of  rushing  thoughts  oppress'd, 
In  that  vast  solitude,  his  anxious  breast ! 

—  To  wither  in  the  blossom  of  renown, 
And  unrecorded  to  the  dust  go  down, 
Or,  for  a  name  on  earth,  to  quit  the  prize 

Of  immortality  beyond  the  skies,  [fail'd, 

Perplex'd  his  wavering  choice:  —  when  Conscience 
Love  rose  against  the  World,  and  Love  prevail'd; 
Passion,  in  aid  of  Virtue,  conquer'd  Pride, 
And  Woman  won  the  heart  to  Heaven  denied. 

CANTO    SECOND. 

Jaran,  descending  through  the  Forest,  arrives  at  the 
place  where  he  had  formerly  parted  with  Zillah, 
when  he  withdrew  from  the  Patriarchs'  Glen. 
There  he  again  discovers  her  in  a  Sower  formed 
on  the  spot.  Their  strange  Interview,  and  abrupt 
Separation. 

Steep  the  descent,  and  wearisome  the  way; 
The  twisted  boughs  forbade  the  light  of  day  ; 

1  '-Costi  1'  infausti  rai 

Spande  Orionc,  c  i  navignnti  attrista, 


No  breath  from  heaven  refresh'd  the  sultry  gloom. 
The  arching  forest  seem'd  one  pillar'd  tomb, 
Upright  and  tall  the  trees  of  ages  grow, 
While  all  is  loneliness  and  waste  below; 
There,  as  the  massy  foliage,  far  aloof 
Display'd  a  dark  impenetrable  roof, 
So,  gnarl'd  and  rigid,  claspt  and  interwound, 
An  uncouth  maze  of  roots  emboss'd  the  ground: 
Midway  beneath  the  sylvan  wild  assumed 
A  milder  aspect,  shrubs  and  flowerets  bloom'd; 
Openings  of  sky,  and  little  plots  of  green, 
And  showers  of  sun-beams  through  the  leaves,  were 
seen. 

Awhile  the  traveller  halted  at  the  place 
Where  last  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Zillah's  face, 
One  lovely  eve,  when  in  that  calm  retreat 
They  met,  as  they  were  often  wont  to  meet, 
And  parted,  not  as  they  were  wont  to  part, 
With  gay  regret,  but  heaviness  of  heart  ; 
Though  Javan  named  for  his  return  the  night, 
When  the  new  moon  had  roll'd  to  full-orb'd  light. 
She   stood,  and  gazed   through    tears,  that  forced 

their  way. 
Oft  as  from  steep  to  steep,  with  fond  delay, 
Lessening  at  every  view,  he  turn'd  his  head, 
Hail'd  her  with  weaker  voice,  then  forward  sped 
From  that  sad  hour,  she  saw  his  face  no  more 
In  Eden's  woods,  or  in  Euphrates'  shore : 
Moons  wax'd  and  waned  :  to  her  no  hope  appcar'd, 
Who   much   his    death,   but   more   his    falsehood, 

fear'd. 

A'otr,  while  he  paused,  the  lapse  of  years  forgot, 
Remembrance  eyed  her  lingering  near  the  spot. 
Onward  he  hasten'd  :  all  his  bosom  burn'd, 
As  if  that  eve  of  parting  were  return'd ; 
And  she,  with  silent  tenderness  of  woe, 
Clung  to  his  heart,  and  would  not  let  him  go. 
Sweet  was  the  scene  !  apart  the  cedars  stood, 
A  sunny  islet  open'd  in  the  wood ; 
With  vernal  tints  the  wild-briar  thicket  glows, 
For  here  the  desert  flourish'd  as  the  rose; 
From  sapling  trees,  with  lucid  foliage  crown'd, 
Gay  lights  and  shadows  twinkled  on  the  ground; 
Up  the  tall  stem  luxuriant  creepers  run, 
To  hang  their  silver  blossoms  in  the  sun  ; 

Orione,  chi  tra  pli  astri  in  ciel  risplende 

Vie  piu  d'  ogni  altro,  e  piu  d'  ogni  altro  offende." 

Fhjcaja. 


Canto  II. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


71 


Deep  velvet  verdure  clad  the  turf  beneath, 
Where  trodden  flowers  their  richest  odours  breathe: 
O'er  all,  the  bees,  with  murmuring  music,  flew 
From  bell  to  bell,  to  sip  the  treasured  dew; 
While  insect  myriads,  in  the  solar  gleams, 
Glanced  to  and  fro,  like  intermingling  beams; 
So  fresh,  so  pure,  the  woods,  the  sky,  the  air, 
It  seem'd  a  place  where  angels  might  repair, 
And  tune  their  harps  beneath  those  tranquil  shades, 
To  morning  songs,  or  moonlight  serenades. 

He  paused  again,  with  memory's  dream  entranced, 
Again  his  foot  unconsciously  advanced, 
For  now  the  laurel-thicket  caught  his  view 
Where  he  and  Zillah  wept  their  last  adieu. 
Some  curious  hand,  since  that  bereaving  hour, 
Had  twined  the  copse  into  a  covert  bower, 
With  many  a  light  and  fragrant  shrub  between, 
Flowering  aloft  amidst  perennial  green. 
As  Javan  search'd  this  blossom-woven  shade, 
He  spied  the  semblance  of  a  sleeping  Maid : 
'lis  she      tin  Zillah  in  her  leafy  shrine 
O'crwatch'd  in  slumber  by  a  Power  Divine, 
In  cool  retirement  from  the  heat  of  day, 
Alone,  unfearing,  on  the  moss  she  lay, 
Fair   as    the    rainbow   shines    through    darkening 

showers, 
Pure  as  a  wreath  of  snow  on  April  flowers. 

0  youth  !  in  later  times,  whose  gentle  ear 
This  tale  of  ancient  constancy  shall  hear  ; 
If  thou  hadst  known  the  sweetness,  and  the  pain, 
To  love  with  secret  hope,  yet  love  in  vain; 
If  months  and  years  in  pining  silence  worn, 
Till  doubt  and  fear  might  be  no  longer  borne, 
In  evening  shades  thy  faltering  tongue  confess'd 
The  last  dear  wish  that  trembled  in  thy  breast, 
While  at  each  pause  the  streamlet  purl'd  along, 
And  rival  woodlands  echoed  song  for  song  ; 
Recall  the  Maiden's  look;  —  the  eye,  the  cheek, 
The  blush  that  spoke  what  language  could  not  speak; 
Recall  her  look,  when  at  the  altar's  side 
She  seal'd  her  promise,  and  became  thy  bride. 
Such  were,  to  Javan,  Zillah's  form  and  face, 
The  flower  of  meekness  on  a  stem  of  grace  ; 
0 !  she  was  all  that  Youth  of  Beauty  deems, 
All  that  to  Love  the  loveliest  object  seems. 

Moments  there  are,  that,  in  their  sudden  flight, 
Bring  the  slow  mysteries  of  years  to  light: 


Javan,  in  one  transporting  instant,  knew, 
That  all  he  wish'd,  and  all  he  fear'd,  was  true ; 
For  while  the  harlot-world  his  soul  possess'd, 
Love  seem'd  a  crime  in  his  apostate  breast  ; 
How  could  he  tempt  her  innocence  to  share 
His  poor  ambition,  and  his  fix'd  despair! 
But  now  the  phantoms  of  a  wandering  brain, 
And  wounded  spirit,  cross'd  his  thoughts  in  vain  : 
Past  sins  and  follies,  cares  and  woes,  forgot, 
Peace,  virtue,  Zillah,  seem'd  his  present  lot; 
Where'er  he  look'd,  around  him  or  above, 
All  was  the  pledge  of  Truth,  the  work  of  Love, 
At  whose  transforming  hand,  where  last  they  stood, 
Had  sprung  that  lono  memorial  in  the  wood. 

Thus  on  the  slumbering  maid  while  Javan  gazed, 
With  quicker  swell  her  hidden  bosom  raised 
The  shadowy  tresses,  that  profusely  shed 
Their  golden  wreaths  from  her  reclining  head  ; 
A  deeper  crimson  mantled  o'er  her  cheek, 
Her  close  lip  quiver'd  as  in  act  to  speak, 
While  broken  sobs,  and  tremors  of  unrest, 
The  inward  trouble  of  a  dream  express'd : 
At  length,  amidst  imperfect  murmurs,  fell 
The  name  of  "Javan!"  and  a  low  "farewell!" 
Tranquil  again,  her  cheek  resumed  its  hue, 
And  soft  as  infancy  her  breath  she  drew. 

When  Javan's  ear  those  startling  accents  thrill'd, 
Wonder  and  ecstasy  his  bosom  fill'd; 
But  quick  compunction  humbler  feelings  wrought, 
He  blush'd  to  be  a  spy  on  Zillah's  thought; 
He  turn'd  aside;  within  the  neighbouring  brake 
Resolved  to  tarry  till  the  nymph  awake, 
There,  as  in  luxury  of  thought  reclined, 
A  calm  of  tenderness  composed  his  mind  : 
His  stringless  harp  upon  the  turf  was  thrown, 
And  on  a  pipe  of  most  mellifluous  tone, 
Framed  by  himself,  the  musing  Minstrel  play'd, 
To  charm  the  slumberer,  cloister'd  in  the  shade.     . 
Jubal  had  taught  the  lyre's  responsive  string 
Beneath  the  rapture  of  his  touch  to  sing ; 
And  bade  the  trumpet  wake,  with  bolder  breath, 
The  joy  of  battle  in  the  field  of  death  ; 
But  Javan  first,  whom  pure  affection  fired, 
With  Love's  clear  eloquence  the  flute  inspired; 
At  once  obedient  to  the  lip  and  hand, 
It  utter'd  every  feeling  at  command. 
Light  o'er  the  stops  his  airy  fingers  flew, 
A  spirit  spoke  in  every  tone  they  drew ; 


72 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  II. 


'Twas  now  the  skylark  on  the  wings  of  morn, 
Xow  the  night  warbler  leaning  on  her  thorn ; 
Anon  through  every  pulse  the  music  stole, 
And  held  sublime  communion  with  the  soul, 
Wrung  from  the  coyest  breast  the  unprison'd  sigh, 
And  kindled  rapture  in  the  coldest  eye. 

Thus  on  his  dulcet  pipe  while  Javan  play'd, 
Within  her  bower  awoke  the  conscious  maid; 
She,  in  her  dream,  by  varying  fancies  crost, 
Had  hail'd  her  wanderer  found,  and  mourn'd  him  lost; 
In  one  wild  vision,  'midst  a  land  unknown, 
By  a  dark  river,  as  she  sat  alone, 
Javan  beyond  the  stream  dejected  stood; 
He  spied  her  soon,  and  leapt  into  the  flood; 
The  thwarting  current  urged  bim  down  its  course, 
But  Love  repell'd  it  with  victorious  force ; 
She  ran  to  help  him  landing,  where  at  length 
He  struggled  up  the  bank  with  failing  strength  : 
She  caught  his  hand;  —  when,  downward  from  the 
A  water-monster  dragg'd  the  youth  away;        [day, 
She  follow'd  headlong,  but  her  garments  bore 
Her  form,  light  floating,  till  she  saw  no  more  : 
For  suddenly  the  dream's  delusion  changed, 
And  through  a  blooming  wilderness  she  ranged  ; 
Alone  she  seem'd,  but  not  alone  she  walk'd, — 
Javan,  invisible,  beside  her  talk'd. 
Ho  told,  how  he  had  journey'd  many  a  year 
With  changing  seasons  in  their  swift  career, 
Danced  with  the  breezes  in  the  bowers  of  morn, 
Slept  in  the  valley  where  new  moons  are  born, 
Rode  with  the  planets,  on  their  golden  cars, 
Round  the  blue  world  inhabited  by  stars, 
And,  bathing  in  the  sun's  crystalline  streams, 
Became  ethereal  spirit  in  the  beams, 
Whence  were  his  lineaments,  from  mortal  sight, 
Absorb'd  in  pure  transparency  of  light; 
But  now,  his  pilgrimage  of  glory  past, 
In  Eden's  vale  he  sought  repose  at  last. 
—  The  voice  was  mystery  to  Zillah's  ear, 
Not  speech,  nor  song,  yet  full,  melodious,  clear; 
No  sounds  of  winds  or  waters,  birds  or  bees, 
Were  e'er  so  exquisitely  tuned  to  please. 
Then,  while  she  sought  him  with  desiring  eyes, 
The  airy  Javan  darted  from  disguise: 
Full  on  her  view  a  stranger's  visage  broke ; 
She  fled,  she  fell,  he  caught  her, —  she  awoke. 

Awoke  from  sleep, —  but  in  her  solitude 
Found  the  enchantment  of  her  dream  renew'd; 


That  living  voice,  so  full,  melodious,  clear, 

That  voice  of  mystery,  warbled  in  her  ear. 

Yet  words  no  longer  wing  the  trembling  notes, 

Unearthly,  inexpressive  music  floats, 

In  liquid  tones  so  voluble  and  wild, 

Her  senses  seem  by  slumber  still  beguiled: 

Alarm'd,  she  started  from  her  lonely  den, 

But,  blushing,  instantly  retired  again  ; 

The  viewless  phantom  came  in  sound  so  near, 

The  stranger  of  her  dream  might  next  appear. 

.1  avail,  conoeal'd  behind  the  verdant  brake, 

Felt  his  lip  fail,  and  strength  his  hand  forsake; 

Then  dropt  his  flute,  and  while  he  lay  at  rest 

Heard    every    pulse    that    travell'd    through     his 

brea-t. 
Zillah,  who  deem'd  the  strange  illusion  fled, 
Now  from  the  laurel-arbour  show'd  her  head, 
Her  eye  quick-glancing  round  as  if,  in  thought, 
Recoiling  from  the  object  that  she  sought : 
By  slow  degrees,  to  Javan,  in  the  shade, 
The  emerging  nymph  her  perfect  shape  display'd. 
Time  bad  but  touch'd  her  form  to  finer  grace, 
Years  had  but  shed  their  favours  on  her  face, 
While  secret  Love,  and  unrewarded  Truth, 
Like  cold  clear  dew  upon  the  rose  of  youth, 
Gave  to  the  springing  flower  a  chasten'd  bloom, 
And  shut  from  rifling  winds  its  coy  perfume. 

Words  cannot  paint  the  wonder  of  her  look, 
When  once  again  his  pipe  the  Minstrel  took, 
And  soft  in  under-toncs  began  to  play. 
Like  the  caged  woodlark's  low-lamenting  lay: 
Then  loud  and  shrill,  by  stronger  breath  impell'd, 
To  higher  strains  the  undaunted  music  swell'd, 
Till  new-born  echoes  through  the  forest  rang, 
And  birds,  at  noon,  in  broken  slumbers  sang. 
Bewildering  transport,  infantine  surprise. 
Throbb'd  in  her  bosom,  sparkled  in  her  eyes; 
O'er  every  feature  every  feeling  shone, 
Her  colour  changed  as  Javan  changed  his  tone  : 
While  she  between  the  bower  and  brake,  entranced, 
Alternately  retreated  or  advanced  ; 
Sometimes  the  lessening  cadence  seem'd  to  fly, 
Then  the  full  melody  came  rolling  nigh  ; 
She  shrunk,  or  follow'd  still,  with  eye  and  feet, 
Afraid  to  lose  it,  more  afraid  to  meet; 
For  yet  through  Eden's  land,  by  fame  alone, 
Jubal's  harmonious  minstrelsy  was  known, 
Though  nobler  songs  than  cheer'd  the  Patriarch'  glen 
Never  resounded  from  the  lips  of  men. 


Canto  II. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


73 


Sileuce,  at  length,  the  listening  Maiden  broke ; 
The  heart  of  Javan  check'd  him  while  she  spoke : 
Though  sweeter  than  his  pipe  her  accents  stole, 
He  durst  not  learn  the  tumult  of  her  soul, 
But,  closely  cowering  in  his  ambuscade, 
With  sprightlier  breath  and  nimbler  finger  play'd. 

—  "'Tis  not  the  nightingale  that  sang  so  well, 
When  Javan  left  me  near  this  lonely  cell : 
'Tis  not  indeed  the  nightingale;  —  her  voice 
Could  never,  since  that  hour,  my  soul  rejoice  : 
Some  bird  from  Paradise  hath  lost  her  way, 
And  carols  here  a  long-forbidden  lay; 

For  ne'er  since  Eve's  transgression  mortal  ear 

Was  privileged  such  heavenly  sounds  to  hear; 

Perhaps  an  Angel,  while  he  rests  his  wings, 

On  earth  alighting,  here  his  descant  sings; 

Methinks  those  tones,  so  full  of  joy  and  love, 

Must  be  the  language  of  the  world  above ! 

Within  this  brake  he  rests:"  With  curious  ken, 

As  if  she  fear'd  to  stir  a  lion's  den, 

Breathless,  on  tiptoe,  round  the  copse  she  crept; 

Her  heart  beat  quicker,  louder,  as  she  stept, — 

Till  Javan  rose,  and  fix'd  on  her  his  eyes, 

In  dumb  embarrassment,  and  feign'd  surprise; 

Upright  she  started,  at  the  sudden  view, 

Back  from  her  brow  the  scatter'd  ringlets  flew : 

Paleness  a  moment  overspread  her  face ; 

But  fear  to  frank  astonishment  gave  place, 

And,  with  the  virgin-blush  of  innocence,  [whence?" 

She  ask'd,  —  "Who   art  thou,  Stranger,  and   from 

With  mild  demeanour,  and  with  downcast  eye, 
Javan,  advancing,  humbly  made  reply : 

—  "A  Wretch,  escaping  from  the  tribes  of  men, 
Seeks  an  asylum  in  the  Patriarchs'  glen. 

As  through  the  forest's  breathless  gloom  I  stray'd, 

Up  sprang  the  breeze  in  this  delicious  shade ; 

Then,  while  I  sate  beneath  the  rustling  tree, 

I  waked  this  pipe  to  wildest  minstrelsy, 

Child  of  my  fancy,  framed  with  Jubal's  art, 

To  breathe  at  will  the  fulness  of  my  heart: 

Fairest  of  Women  !  if  the  clamour  rude 

Hath  scared  the  quiet  of  thy  solitude, 

Forgive  the  innocent  offence,  and  tell 

How  far  beyond  these  woods  the  righteous  dwell." 

Though  changed  his  voice,  his  look  and  stature 
In  air  and  garb,  in  all  but  love  estranged,    [changed, 
Still  in  the  youthful  exile  Zillah  sought 
A  dear  lost  friend,  for  ever  near  her  thought! 


Yet  answer'd  coldly, — jealous  and  afraid 
Her  heart  might  be  mistaken,  or  betray'd  : 

—  "Not  far  from  hence  the  faithful  race  reside ; 
Pilgrim  !  to  whom  shall  I  thy  footsteps  guide  '.' 
Alike  to  all,  if  thou  an  alien  be : 

My  father's  home  invites  thee ;  follow  me." 

She  spoke  with  such  a  thought-divining  look, 
Colour  his  lip,  and  power  his  tongue,  forsook; 
At  length,  in  hesitating  tone,  and  low, 

—  "Enoch,"  said  he,  "the  friend  of  God,  I  know; 
To  him  I  bear  a  message  full  of  fear ; 

I  may  not  rest  till  he  vouchsafe  to  hear." 

He  paused;  his  cheek  with  red  confusion  burn'd; 
Kindness  through  her  relenting  breast  return'd  : 

—  "Behold  the  path,"  she  cried,  and  led  the  way: 
Ere  long,  the  vale  unbosom'd  to  the  day : 

—  "Yonder,  where  two  embracing  oaks  are  seen, 
Arch'd  o'er  a  cottage-roof,  that  peeps  between, 
Dwells  Enoch.     Stranger!  peace  attend  thee  there; 
My  father's  sheep  demand  his  daughter's  care." 

Javan  was  so  rebuked  beneath  her  eye, 
She  vanish'd  ere  he  falter'd  a  reply, 
And  sped,  while  he  in  cold  amazement  stood, 
Along  the  winding  border  of  the  wood; 
Now  lost,  now  re-appearing,  as  the  glade 
Shone  to  the  sun,  or  darkeu'd  in  the  shade, 
He  saw,  but  might  not  follow,  where  her  flock 
Were  wont  to  rest  at  noon,  beneath  a  rock. 
He  knew  the  willowy  champaign,  and  the  stream, 
Of  many  an  early  lay  the  simple  theme, 
Chanted  in  Boyhood's  unsuspecting  hours, 
When  Zillah  join'd  the  song,  or  praised  his  powers. 
Thither  he  watch'd  her,  while  her  course  she  bore, 
Nor  ceased  to  gaze  when  she  was  seen  no  more. 


CANTO   THIRD. 

Jaran's  Soliloquy  on  Zillah's  Desertion  of  him. 
He  readies  the  Ruins  of  his  Mother's  Cottage. 
Thenee  he  proceeds  to  Enoch's  Dwelling.  His 
Reception  there.  Enoch  and  Javan  proceed  to- 
gether towards  the  Place  of  /Sacrifice.  Descrip- 
tion of  the  Patriarchs'  Glen; — Occasions  of  the 
Family  of  Seth  retiring  thither  at  first. 

"Am  I  so  changed  by  suffering,  so  forgot, 
That  love  disowns  me,  Zillah  knows  me  not  ? 


74 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  III. 


Ah  !  no  :  she  shrinks  from  my  disastrous  fate  ; 

She  dure  not  love  me,  and  she  cannot  hate. 

'T  is  just :  I  merit  this  :  —  When  Nature's  womb 

Ingulf'd  my  kindred  in  one  common  tomb, 

Why  was  I  spared?  —  A  reprobate  by  birth, 

To  Heaven  rebellious,  unallied  on  earth, 

Whither,  0  whither,  shall  the  outcast  flee? 

There  is  no  home,  no  peace,  no  hope,  for  me. 

I  hate  the  worldling's  vanity  and  noise, 

I  have  no  fellow-feeling  in  his  joys; 

The  saint's  serener  bliss  I  cannot  share, 

My  soul,  alas  !  hath  no  communion  there. 

This  is  the  portion  of  my  cup  below, — 

Silent,  unmingled,  solitary  woe; 

To  bear  from  clime  to  clime  the  curse  of  Cain, 

Sin  with  remorse,  yet  find  repentance  vain ; 

And  cling,  in  blank  despair,  from  breath  to  breath, 

To  nought  in  life,  except  the  fear  of  Death." 

While  Javan  gave  his  bitter  passion  vent, 
And  wander'd  on,  unheeding  where  he  went, 
His  feet,  instinctive,  led  him  to  the  spot 
Where  rose  the  ruins  of  his  Childhood's  cot : 
Here,  as  he  halted  in  abrupt  surprise, 
His  Mother  seem'd  to  vanish  from  his  eyes, 
As  if  her  gentle  form,  unmark'd  before, 
Had  stood  to  greet  him  at  the  woDted  door; 
Yet  did  the  pale  retiring  Spirit  dart 
A  look  of  tenderness  that  broke  his  heart : 
'T  was  but  a  thought,  arrested  on  its  flight, 
And  bodied  forth  with  visionary  light, 
But  chill  the  life-blood  ran  through  every  vein, 
The  fire  of  frenzy  faded  from  his  brain, 
He  cast  himself  in  terror  on  the  ground : 
—  Slowly  recovering  strength,  he  gazed  around, 
In  wistful  silence  eyed  those  walls  decay'd, 
Between  whose  chinks  the  lively  lizard  play'd ; 
The  moss-clad  timbers,  loose  and  lapsed  awry, 
Threatening  ere  long  in  wider  wreck  to  lie; 
The  fractured  roof,  through  which  the  sun-beams 

shone, 
With  rank  unflowering  verdure  overgrown; 
The  prostrate  fragments  of  the  wicker-door, 
And  reptile  traces  on  the  damp  green  floor. 
This  mournful  spectacle  while  Javan  view'd, 
Life's  earliest  scenes  and  trials  were  renew'd : 
O'er  his  dark  mind,  the  light  of  years  gone  by 
Gleam'd.  like  the  meteors  of  a  northern  sky. 
He  moved  his  lips,  bat  strove  in  vain  to  speak. 
A  few  slow  tears  stray'd  down  his  cold  wan  oheok, 


Till  from  his  breast  a  sigh  convulsive  sprung, 
And  "0  my  mother!"  trembled  from  his  tongue. 
That  name,  though  but  a  murmur,  that  dear  name 
Toueh'd  every  kind  affection  into  flame ; 
Despondency  assumed  a  milder  form, 
A  ray  of  comfort  darted  through  the  storm ; 
"0  God  !  be  merciful  to  me  !" — He  said, 
Arose,  and  straight  to  Enoch's  dwelling  sped. 

Enoch,  who  sate,  to  taste  the  freshening  breeze, 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  his  cottage-trees, 
Beheld  the  Youth  approaching  ;  and  his  eye, 
Instructed  by  the  light  of  prophecy, 
Knew  from  afar,  beneath  the  stranger's  air, 
The  orphan  object  of  his  tenderest  care ; 
Forth,  with  a  father's  joy,  the  holy  man 
To  meet  the  poor  returning  pilgrim  ran, 
Fell  on  his  neck,  and  ki?s'd  him,  wept,  and  cried, 
"My  son  !  my  son  !" — but  Javan  shrunk  aside; 
The  Patriarch  raised,  embraced  him,  oft  withdrew 
His  head  to  gaze,  then  wept  and  clasp'd  anew. 
The  mourner  bow'd  with  agony  of  shame, 
Clung  round  his  knees,  and  call'd  upon  his  name. 
—  "Father!  behold  a  supplicant  in  me, 
A  sinner  in  the  sight  of  Heaven  and  thee : 
Yet,  for  thy  former  love,  may  Javan  live ; 
0,  for  the  mother's  sake,  the  son  forgive  !  — 
The  meanest  office,  and  the  lowest  seat, 
In  Enoch's  house  be  mine,  at  Enoch's  feet." 

"Come  to  my  home,  my  bosom,  and  my  rest, 
Not  as  a  stranger,  and  way-faring  guest; 
My  bread  of  peace,  my  cup  of  blessings  share, 
Child  of  my  faith  !  and  answer  to  my  prayer ! 

0  !  I  have  wept  through  many  a  night  for  thee, 
And  watch'd  through  many  a  day  tins  day  to  sec. 
Crown'd  is  the  hope  of  my  desiring  heart, 

1  am  resign'd,  and  ready  to  depart  : 
With  joy  I  hail  my  course  of  nature  run, 
Since  I  have  seen  thy  face,  my  son !  my  son  !" 

So  saying,  Enoch  led  to  his  abode 
The  trembling  penitent,  along  the  road 
That  through  the  garden's  gay  enclosure  wound. 
'Midst  fruits  and  flowers  the  Patriarch's  spouse  they 

found. 
Plucking  the  purple  clusters  from  the  vine 
To  crown  the  cup  of  unfermented  wine : 
She  came  to  meet  them ;— but  in  strange  surmise 
|  Stopt,  and  on  Javan  fix'd  her  earnest  eyes; 


Canto  III. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


75 


ne  kneel'd  to  greet  her  hand  with  wonted  grace  — 
Ah  !  then  she  knew  him  ! —  as  he  bow'd  his  face, 
nis  mother's  features  in  a  glimpse  she  caught, 
And  the  son's  image  rush'd  upon  her  thought: 
Pale  she  recoil'd  with  momentary  fright, 
As  if  a  spirit  had  risen  before  her  sight; 
Returning,  with  a  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
She  pour'd  a  flood  of  tears  upon  his  cheek, 
Then  laugh'd  for  gladness, — but  her  laugh  was  wild  : 
'Where  hast  thou  been,  my  own,  my  orphan  child  ? 
Child  of  my  soul!  bequeath'd  in  death  to  me, 
By  her  who  had  no  other  wealth  than  thee  !" 
She  cried,  and  with  a  mother's  love  caress'd 
The  Youth,  who  wept  in  silence  on  her  breast. 

This  hasty  tumult  of  affection  o'er, 
They  pass'd  within  the  hospitable  door; 
There  on  a  grassy  couch,  with  joy  o'ereome, 
Pensive  with  awe,  with  veneration  dumb, 
Javan  reclined,  while,  kneeling  at  his  seat, 
The  humble  Patriarch  wash'd  the  traveller's  feet. 
Quickly  the  Spouse  her  plenteous  table  spread 
With  homely  viands,  milk  and  fruits  and  bread. 
Ere  long  the  guest,  grown  innocently  bold, 
With  simple  eloquence,  his  story  told  ; 
His  sins,  his  follies  frankly  were  reveal'd, 
And  nothing  but  his  nameless  love  conceal'd, 
"  While  thus,"  he  cried,  "  I  proved  the  world  a  snare, 
Pleasure  a  serpent,  Fame  a  cloud  in  air; 
While  with  the  sons  of  men  my  footsteps  trod, 
My  home,  my  heart,  was  with  the  sons  of  Gon." 

"Went  not  my  spirit  with  thee,"  Enoch  said, 
"When  from  the  Mother's  grave  the  Orphan  fled ? 
Others  believed  thee  slain  by  beasts  of  blood, 
Or  .-elf-devoted  to  the  strangling  flood, 
(Too  plainly  in  thy  grief-bewilder'd  mien, 
By  every  eye  a  breaking  heart  was  seen ;) 
I  mourn'd  in  secret  thine  apostasy, 
Nor  ceased  to  intercede  with  Heaven  for  thee, 
Strong  was  my  faith  ;  in  dreams  or  waking  thought, 
Oft  as  thine  image  o'er  my  mind  was  brought, 
I  deem'd  thee  living  by  this  conscious  sign, 
The  deep  communion  of  my  soul  with  thine. 
This  day  a  voice,  that  thrill'd  my  breast  with  fear, 
(Methought  'twas  Adam's)  whisper'd  in  mine  ear, 
— '  Enoch  !  ere  thrice  the  morning  meet  the  sun, 
Thy  joy  shall  be  fulfill'd,  thy  rest  begun.' — 
While  yet  those  tones  were  murmuring  in  air, 
I  turn'd  to  look, —  but  saw  no  speaker  there: 


Thought  I  not  then  of  thee,  my  long-lost  joy  ? 
Leapt  not  my  heart  abroad  to  meet  my  boy? 
Yes  !  and  while  still  I  sat  beneath  the  tree, 
Revolving  what  the  signal  meant  to  me, 
I  spied  thee  coming,  and  with  eager  feet 
Ran,  the  returning  fugitive  to  greet : 
Nor  less  the  welcome  art  thou  since  I  know, 
By  this  high  warning,  that  from  earth  I  go ; 
My  days  are  number'd;  peace  on  thine  attend! 
The  trial  comes, —  be  faithful  to  the  end." 

"  0  live  the  years  of  Adam  !  "  cried  the  youth  ; 
"Yet  seem  thy  words  to  breathe  prophetic  truth. 
Sire  !  while  I  roam'd  the  world,  a  transient  guest, 
From  sunrise  to  the  ocean  of  the  west, 
I  found  that  sin,  where'er  the  foot  of  man 
Nature's  primeval  wilderness  o'er-ran, 
Had  track'd  his  steps,  and  through  advancing  Time 
Urged  the  deluded  race  from  crime  to  crime, 
Till  wrath  and  strife,  in  fratricidal  war, 
Gather'd  the  force  of  nations  from  afar, 
To  deal  and  suffer  Death's  unheeded  blow, 
As  if  the  curse  on  Adam  were  too  slow. 
Even  now  an  host,  like  locusts  on  their  way, 
That  desolate  the  earth  and  dim  the  day, 
Led  by  a  Giant-King,  whose  arm  hath  broke 
Remotest  realms  to  wear  his  iron  yoke, 
Hover  o'er  Eden,  resolute  to  close 
His  final  triumph  o'er  his  latest  foes; 
A  feeble  band,  that  in  their  covert  lie, 
Like  cowering  doves  beneath  the  falcon's  eye. 
That  easy  and  ignoble  conquest  won, 
There  yet  remains  one  fouler  deed  undone. 
Oft  have  I  heard  the  tyrant,  in  his  ire, 
Devote  this  glen  to  massacre  and  fire, 
And  swear  to  root,  from  Earth's  dishonour'd  face, 
The  last  least  relic  of  the  faithful  race; 
Thenceforth  he  hopes,  on  God's  terrestrial  throne 
To  rule  the  nether  universe  alone. 
Wherefore,  0  sire !  when  evening  shuts  the  sky, 
Fly  with  tby  kindred,  from  destruction  fly  ! 
Far  to  the  south,  unpeopled  wilds  of  wood 
Skirt  the  dark  borders  of  Euphrates'  flood; 
There  shall  the  Patriarchs  find  secure  repose, 
Till  Eden  rest,  forsaken  of  her  foes." 

At  Javan's  speech  the  Matron's  cheek  grew  pale  ; 
Her  courage,  not  her  faith,  began  to  fail: 
Eve's  youngest  daughter  she  :  the  silent  tear 
Witness'd  her  patience,  but  betray'd  her  fear. 


7G 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  IV- 


Then  answer'd  Enoch,  with  ii  smile  serene, 
That  shed  celestial  beauty  o'er  his  mien  : 
"  Here  is  mine  earthly  habitation  ;  here 
I  wait  till  my  Redeemer  shall  appear; 
Death  and  the  face  of  man  I  dare  not  shun, 
God  is  my  refuge,  and  His  will  be  done '." 

The  Matron  check'd  her  uncomplaining  sigh, 
And  wiped  the  drop  that  trembled  in  her  eye. 
Javan  with  shame  and  self-abasement  blush'd, 
But  every  care  at  Enoch's  smile  was  hush'd : 
He  felt  the  power  of  truth  ;  his  heart  o'erflow'd, 
And  in  his  look  sublime  devotion  glow'd. 
Westward  the  Patriarch  turn'd  his  tranquil  face ; 
"The    Sun,"    said    he,    "hath    well   nigh    run  his 

race  ; 
I  to  the  yearly  sacrifice  repair, 
Our  Brethren  meet  me  at  the  place  of  prayer." 

"I  follow:   0,  my  father!   I  am  thine; 
Thy  Gon,  thy  people,  and  thine  altar,  mine  !" 
Exclaim'd  the  youth,  on  highest  thoughts  intent, 
And  forth  with  Enoch  through  the  valley  went. 

Deep  was  that  valley,  girt  with  rock  and  wood, 
In  rural  groups  the  scatter'd  hamlet  stood ; 
Tents,  arbours,  cottages,  adorn'd  the  scene, 
Gardens  and  fields  and  shepherds'  walks  between  ; 
Through  all,  a  streamlet,  from  its  mountain-source, 
Seen  but  by  stealth,  pursued  its  willowy  course. 

When  first  the  mingling  sons  of  God  and  man 
The  demon-sacrifice  of  war  began, 
Self-exiled  here,  the  family  of  Seth, 
Renounced  a  world  of  violence  and  death, 
Faithful  alone  amidst  the  faithless  found,1 
And  innocent  while  murder  cursed  the  ground. 
Here,  in  retirement  from  profane  mankind, 
They  worshipp'd  God  with  purity  of  mind, 
Fed  their  small  flocks,  and  till'd  their  narrow  soil, 
Like  parent  Adam,  with  submissive  toil, 
—  Adam,  whose  eyes  their  pious  hands  had  closed, 
Whose  bones  beneath  their  quiet  turf  reposed. 
No  glen  like  this,  unstain'd  with  human  blood, 
Could  youthful  Nature  boast  before  the  flood ; 
Far  less  shall  Earth,  now  hastening  to  decay, 
A  scene  of  sweeter  loneliness  display, 


'  So  spake  the  Seraph  Abdiel,  faithful  found 
Among  the  faithless,  faithful  only  he." 

Par.  Lost,  book  v. 


Where  nought  was  heard  but  sounds  of  peace  and 

love, 
Nor  seen  but  woods  around,  and  heaven  above. 

Vet  not  in  cold  and  unconeern'd  content 
Their  years  in  that  delicious  range  were  spent; 
Oft  from  their  haunts  the  fervent  Patriarchs  broke, 
In  strong  affection  to  their  kindred  spoke,     [crimes, 
With    tears    and    prayers   reproved    their   growing 
Or  told  the  impending  judgments  of  the  times. 
In  vain  :   the  world  despised  the  warning  word, 
With  scorn  belied  it,  or  with  mockery  heard; 
Forbade  the  zealous  monitors  to  roam, 
And  stoned,  or  chased  them  to  their  forest  home. 
There,  from  the  depth  of  solitude,  their  sighs 
Pleaded  with  Heaven  in  ceaseless  sacrifice ; 
And  long  did  righteous  Heaven  the  guilty  spare, 
Won  by  the  holy  violence  of  prayer. 

Yet  sharper  pangs  of  unavailing  woe, 
Those  Sires  in  secrecy  were  doom'd  to  know; 
Oft  by  the  world's  alluring  snares  misled, 
Their  youth  from  that  sequester'd  valley  fled, 
Join'd  the  wild  herd,  increased  the  godless  crew, 
And  left  the  virtuous  remnant  weak  and  few. 


CANTO     FOURTH. 

Enoch  relates  to  Javan  the  Circumstances  of  the  Death 
of  Adam,  including  his  Appointment  of  an  Annual 
Sacrifice  on  the  Day  of  his  Transgression  and  Fall 
in  Paradise. 

Tiirs  through  the  valley  while  they  held  their  walk, 

Enoch  of  former  days  began  to  talk:  — 

"  Thou  know'st  our  place  of  sacrifice  and. prayer. 

Javan  !  for  thou  wert  wont  to  worship  there: 

Built  by  our  father's  venerable  hands, 

On  the  same  spot  our  ancient  altar  stands, 

Where,  driven  from  Eden's  hallow'd  groves,  he  found 

A  home  on  earth's  unconseerated  ground; 

Whence  too,  his  pilgrimage  of  trial  o'er, 

He  reach'd  the  rest  which  sin  can  break  no  more. 

Oft  hast  thou  heard  our  elder  Patriarchs  tell 

How  Adam  once  by  disobedionee  fell : 

Would  that  my  tongue  were  gifted  to  display 

The  terror  and  the  glory  of  that  day. 

When,  seized  and  stricken  by  the  hand  of  Death, 

The  first  transgressor  yielded  up  his  breath  ! 


Canto  IV. 


THE  WORLD   BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


77 


Night  threescore  years,  with  interchanging  light, 
The  host  of  heaven  have  measured  day  and  night, 
Since  we  beheld  the  ground,  from  which  we  rose, 
On  hi?  returning  dust  in  silence  close. 

"  With  him  his  noblest  sons  might  not  compare, 
In  godlike  feature  and  majestic  air  : 
Not  out  of  weakness  rose  his  gradual  frame, 
Perfect  from  his  Creator's  hand  he  came; 
And  as  in  form  excelling,  so  in  mind 
The  Sire  of  men  transcended  all  mankind. 
A  soul  was  in  his  eye,  and  in  his  speech 
A  dialect  of  heaven  no  art  could  reach  ; 
For  oft  of  old  to  him  the  evening  breeze 
Had  borne  the  voice  of  God  among  the  trees ; 
Angels  were  wont  their  songs  with  his  to  blend, 
And  talk  with  him  as  their  familiar  friend. 
But  deep  remorse  for  that  mysterious  crime, 
Whose  dire  contagion  through  elapsing  time 
Diffused  the  curse  of  death  beyond  control, 
Had  wrought  such  self-abasement  in  his  soul, 
That  he,  whose  honours  were  approach'd  by  none, 
Was  yet  the  meekest  man  beneath  the  sun. 
Prom  sin,  as  from  the  serpent  that  betray'd 
Eve's  early  innocence,  he  shrunk  afraid; 
Vice  he  rebuked  with  so  austere  a  frown, 
He  seein'd  to  bring  an  instant  judgment  down  ; 
Yet,  while  he  chid,  compunctious  tears  would  start, 
And  yearning  tenderness  dissolve  his  heart ! 
The  guilt  of  all  his  race  became  his  own, 
nc  suffer'd  as  if  he  had  sinn'd  alone. 
Within  our  glen  to  filial  love  endear'd, 
Abroad  for  wisdom,  truth,  and  justice  fear'd, 
lie  walk'd  so  humbly  in  the  sight  of  all, 
The  vilest  ne'er  reproach'd  him  with  his  fall. 
Children  were  his  delight ;  — they  ran  to  meet 
His  soothing  hand,  and  clasp  his  honour'd  feet; 
While  'midst  their  fearless  sports  supremely  blest, 
He  grew  in  heart  a  child  among  the  rest. 
Yet,  as  a  Parent,  nought  beneath  the  sky 
Touch'd  him  so  quickly  as  an  infant's  eye  : 
Joy  from  its  smile  of  happiness  he  caught; 
Its  flash  of"  rag?  sent  horror  through  his  thought : 
nis  smitten  conscience  felt  as  fierce  a  pain, 
As  if  he  fell  from  innocence  again. 

"  One  morn  I  track'd  him  on  his  lonely  way, 
Pale  as  the  gleam  of  slow-awakening  dav  : 
With  feeble  step  he  climb'd  yon  craggy  height, 
Thence  fix'd  on  distant  Paradise  his  sight  ; 


He  gazed  awhile  in  silent  thought  profound, 
Then,  falling  prostrate  on  the  dewy  ground, 
ne  pour'd  his  spirit  in  a  flood  of  prayer, 
Bewail'd  his  ancient  crime  with  self-despair, 
And  claim'd  the  pledge  of  reconciling  grace, 
The  promised  Seed,  the  Saviour  of  his  race. 
Wrestling  with  God,  as  nature's  vigour  fail'd. 
His  faith  grew  stronger  and  his  plea  prevail'd; 
The  prayer  from  agony  to  rapture  rose, 
And  sweet  as  Angel  accents  fell  the  close. 
I  stood  to  meet  him  :  when  he  raised  his  head, 
Divine  expression  o'er  his  visage  spread ; 
His  presence  was  so  saintly  to  behold, 
He  seem'd  in  sinless  Paradise  grown  old 

"  —  'This  day,' said  he,  'in  Time's  star-lighted 
round, 
Renews  the  anguish  of  that  mortal  wound 
On  me  inflicted,  when  the  Serpent's  tongue 
My  spouse  with  his  beguiling  falsehood  stung. 
Though  years  of  grace  through  centuries  have'pass'd 
Since  my  transgression,  this  may  be  my  last ; 
Infirmities  without,  and  fears  within, 
Foretell  the  consummating  stroke  of  sin  : 
The  hour,  the  place,  the  form  to  me  unknown, 
But  God,  who  lent  me  life,  will  claim  his  own  : 
Then,  lest  I  sink  as  suddenly  in  death, 
As  quicken'd  into  being  by  his  breath, 
Once  more  I  climb'd  these  rocks  with  weary  pace, 
And  but  once  more,  to  view  my  native  place, 
To  bid  yon  garden  of  delight  farewell, 
The  earthly  Paradise  from  which  I  fell. 
This  mantle,  Enoch  !  which  I  yearly  wear 
To  mark  the  day  of  penitence  and  prayer,— 
These  skins,  the  covering  of  my  first  offence, 
When,  conscious  of  departed  innocence, 
Naked  and  trembling  from  my  Judge  I  fled, 
A  hand  of  mercy  o'er  my  vileness  spread;  — 
Enoch  !  this  mantle,  thus  vouchsafed  to  me, 
At  my  dismission,  I  bequeath  to  thee  ; 
AVear  it  in  sad  memorial  on  this  day, 
And  yearly  at  mine  earliest  altar  slay 
A  lamb  immaculate,  whose  blood  be  spilt 
In  sign  of  wrath  removed  and  canecU'd  guilt: 
So  be  the  sins  of  all  my  race  confest, 
So  on  their  heads  may  peace  and  pardon  rest ! 
-Thus  spake  our  Sire,  and  down  the  steep  descent 
With  strengthened  heart  and  fearless  footstep,  went: 

0  Javan !  when  we  parted  at  his  door, 

1  loved  him  as  I  never  loved  before. 


78 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  TUE  FLOOD. 


Canto  IV. 


"Ere  noon,  returning  to  bis  bower,  I  found 
Our  father  labouring  in  his  harvest  ground, 
(For  yet  he  till'd  a  little  plot  of  soil, 
Patient  and  pleased  with  voluntary  toil;) 
But  0  how  changed  from  him,  whose  morning  eye 
Outshone  the  star  that  told  the  sun  was  nigh  ! 
Loose  in  his  feeble  grasp  the  sickle  shook ; 
I  mark'd  the  ghastly  dolour  of  his  look, 
And  ran  to  help  him;  but  his  latest  strength 
Fail'd  :  —  prone  upon  his  sheaves  he  fell  at  length  : 
I  strove  to  raise  him;  sight  and  sense  were  fled, 
Nerveless  his  limbs,  and  backward  sway'd  his  head. 
Seth  pass'd ;  I  call'd  him,  and  we  bore  our  Sire 
To  neighbouring  shades,  from  noon's  afflictive  fire : 
Ere  long  he  'woke  to  feeling,  with  a  sigh, 
And  half  unclosed  his  hesitating  eye  ; 
Strangely  and  timidly  he  peer'd  around, 
Like  men  in  dreams  whom  sudden  lights  confound : 

—  '  Is  this  a  new  Creation  ?  —  Have  I  passM 
The  bitterness  of  death?'  — He  look'd  aghast, 
Then  sorrowful  !  — '  No  ;  men  and  trees  appear ; 
'Tis  not  a  new  Creation  —  pain  is  here  : 

From  Sin's  dominion  is  there  no  release? 
Lord  !  let  thy  Servant  now  depart  in  peace.' 

—  Hurried  remembrance  crowding  o'er  his  soul, 
He  knew  us;  tears  of  consternation  stole 

Down  his  pale  cheeks  :  —  '  Seth  !  -  Enoch  !  Where 

is  Eve  ? 
How  could  the  spouse  her  dying  consort  leave?' 

"  Eve  look'd  that  moment  from  their  cottage-door 
In  quest  of  Adam,  where  he  toil'd  before  : 
He  was  not  there ;  she  call'd  him  by  his  name  ; 
Sweet  to  his  ear  the  well-known  accents  came : 

i  jjere  am  I,'  answered  he,  in  tone  so  weak, 

That  we  who  held  him  scarcely  heard  him  speak  ; 

But,  resolutely  bent  to  rise,  in  vain 

He  struggled  till  he  swoon'd  away  with  pain. 

Eve  call'd  again,  and,  turning  tow'rds  the  shade, 

Helpless  as  infancy  beheld  him  laid : 

She  sprang,  as  smitten  with  a  mortal  wound, 

Forward,  and  cast  herself  upon  the  ground 

At  Adam's  feet ;  half  rising  in  despair, 

Him  from  our  arms  she  wildly  strove  to  tear: 

Kepell'd  by  gentle  violence,  she  press'd 

His  powerless  hand  to  her  convulsive  breast, 

And  kneeling,  bending  o'er  him,  full  of  fears, 

Warm  on  hi?  bosom  showcr'd  her  silent  tears. 

Light  to  his  eyes  at  that  refreshment  came, 

They  open'd  on  her  in  a  transient  flame; 


he 


—  'And    art   thou   here,  my  Life!  my  Love! 

cried, 
'  Faithful  in  death  to  this  congenial  side  ? 
Thus  let  me  bind  thee  to  my  breaking  heart, 
One  dear,  one  bitter  moment,  ere  we  part.' 
— '  Leave  me  not,  Adam  !  leave  me  not  below ; 
With  thee  I  tarry,  or  with  thee  I  go,' 
She  said,  and,  yielding  to  his  faint  embrace, 
Clung  round  hin  neck,  and  wept  upon  his  face. 
Alarming  recollections  soon  return'd, 
His  fever'd  frame  with  glowing  anguish  burn'd : 
Ah  !  then,  as  Nature's  tenderest  impulse  wrought, 
With  fond  solicitude  of  love  she  sought 
To  soothe  his  limbs  upon  their  grassy  bed, 
And  make  the  pillow  easy  to  his  head ; 
She  wiped  his  reeking  temples  with  her  hair  ; 
She  shook  the  leaves  to  stir  the  sleeping  air ; 
Moisten'd  his  lips  with  kisses :  with  her  breath 
Vainly  essay'd  to  quell  the  fire  of  Death, 
That  ran  and  revell'd  through  his  swollen  vein., 
With  quicker  pulses  and  severer  pains. 

"  The  sun,  in  summer  majesty  on  high, 
Darted  his  fierce  effulgence  down  the  sky  ; 
Yet  dimm'd  and  blunted  were  the  dazzling  rays, 
His  orb  espanded  through  a  dreary  haze, 
And,  circled  with  a  red  portentous  zone, 
He  look'd  in  sickly  horror  from  his  throne : 
The  vital  air  was  still  ;  the  torrid  heat 
Oppress'd  our  hearts,  that  labour'd  hard  to  beat. 
When  higher  noon  had  shrunk  the  lessening  shade, 
Thence  to  his  home  our  father  we  convey'd, 
And  stretch'd  him,  pillow'd  with  his  latest  sheaves, 
On  a  fresh  couch  of  green  and  fragrant  leaves. 
Here,  though  his  sufferings  through  the  glen  were 

known, 
We  chose  to  watch  his  dying  bed  alone, 

Eve,  Seth,  and  I. In  vain  he  sigh'd  for  rest, 

And  oft  his  meek  complainings  thus  express'd  : 

—  'Blow  on  me,  Wind!  I  faint  with  heat!  0  bring 
Delicious  water  from  the  deepest  spring ; 

Your  sunless  shadows  o'er  my  limbs  diffuse, 
Ye  Cedars  !  wash  me  cold  with  midnight  dews. 

—  Cheer  me,  my  friends!  with  looks  of  kindness 

cheer; 
Whisper  a  word  of  comfort  in  mine  ear; 
Those  sorrowing  faces  fill  my  soul  with  gloom; 
This  silence  is  the  silence  of  the  tomb. 
Thither  I  hasten ;  help  me  on  my  way  : 
0  sing  to  soothe  me ;  and  to  strengthen,  pray  ! 


Canto  IV. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


79 


We  sang  to  soothe  him, —  hopeless  was  the  song; 

We  pray'd  to  strengthen  him,— he  grew  not  strong. 

In  vain  from  every  herb,  and  fruit,  and  flower, 

Of  cordial  sweetness  or  of  healing  power, 

We  press'd  the  virtue;  no  terrestrial  balm 

Nature's  dissolving  ngony  could  calm. 

Thus  as  the  day  declined,  the  fell  disease 

Eclipsed  the  light  of  life  by  slow  degrees : 

Yet,  while  his  pangs  grew  sharper,  more  resign'd, 

More  self-collected,  grew  the  sufferer's  mind ; 

Patient  of  heart,  though  rack'd  at  every  pore, 

The  righteous  penalty  of  sin  he  bore : 

Not  his  the  fortitude  that  mocks  at  pains, 

But  that  which  feels  them  most,  and  yet  sustains. 

—  "T  is  just,  'tis  merciful,'  we  heard  him  say; 

'Yet  wherefore  hath  lie  turn'd  His  face  away  ? 

I  see  Him  not;  I  hear  Him  not;  I  call ; 

My  God  !  my  God  !  support  me,  or  I  fall.' 

"The  sun  went  down  amidst  an  angry  glare 
Of  flushing  clouds,  that  crimson'd  all  the  air; 
The  winds  brake  loose;  the  forest  boughs  were  torn, 
And  dark  aloof  the  eddying  foliage  borne ; 
Cattle  to  shelter  scudded  in  affright: 
The  florid  evening  vanish'd  into  night: 
Then  burst  the  hurricane  upon  the  vale, 
In  peals  of  thunder,  and  thiok-vollied  hail ; 
Prone-rushing  rains  with  torrents  whelm'd  the  land, 
Our  cot  amidst  a  river  seem'd  to  stand  ; 
Around  its  base,  the  foamy-crested  streams 
Flash'd   through   the   darkness    to   the  lightning's 

gleams ; 
With  monstrous  throes  an  earthquake  heaved  the 

grouud, 
The  rocks  were  rent,  the  mountains  trembled  round. 
Never,  since  Nature  into  being  came, 
Had  such  mysterious  motion  shook  her  frame  : 
We  thought,  ingulf'd  in  floods,  or  wrapt  in  fire. 
The  world  itself  would  perish  with  our  Sire. 

"Amidst  this  war  of  elements,  within 
More  dreadful  grew  the  sacrifice  of  sin, 
Whose  victim  on  his  bed  of  torture  lay, 
Breathing  the  slow  remains  of  lite  away. 
Erewhile,  victorious  faith  sublimer  rose 
Beneath  the  pressure  of  collected  woes  : 
But  now  his  spirit  waver'd,  went  and  came, 
Like  the  loose  vapour  of  departing  flame, 
Till,  at  the  point  when  comfort  seem'd  to  die 
For  ever  in  his  fix'd,  unclosing  eye, 


Bright    through    the    smouldering    ashes    of    the 

man, 
The  saint  brake  forth,  and  Adam  thus  began  : 

" — '0  ye,  that  shudder  at  this  awful  strife, 
This  wrestling  agony  of  Death  and  Life, 
Think  not  that  He,  on  whom  ray  soul  is  cast, 
Will  leave  me  thus  forsaken  to  the  last : 
Nature's  infirmity  alone  you  see; 
My  chains  are  breaking,  I  shall  soon  bo  free ; 
Though  firm  in  God  the  Spirit  holds  her  trust, 
The  flesh  is  frail,  and  trembles  into  dust. 
Horror  and  anguish  seize  me; — -'tis  the  hour 
Of  darkness,  and  I  mourn  beneath  its  power ; 
The  Tempter  plies  me  with  his  direst  art, 
I  feel  the  Serpent  coiling  round  my  heart; 
He  stirs  the  wound  he  once  inflicted  there, 
Instils  the  deadening  poison  of  despair, 
Belies  the  truth  of  God's  delaying  grace, 
And  bids  me  curse  my  Maker  to  His  face. 
■ — I  will  not  curse  Him,  though  His  grace  delay; 
I  will  not  cease  to  trust  Him,  though  He  slay ; 
Full  on  His  promised  mercy  I  rely, 
For  God  hath  spoken, —  God,  who  cannot  lie. 
■ — Thou,  of  my  faith  the  Author  and  the  End! 
Mine  early,  late,  and  everlasting  Friend  ! 
The  joy,  that  once  Thy  presence  gave,  restore, 
Ere  I  am  Bummon'd  henee,  and  seen  no  more : 
Down  to  the  dust  returns  this  earthly  frame, 
Receive  my  Spirit,  Loud!  from  whom  it  came; 
Rebuke  the  Tempter,  show  Thy  power  to  save, 
0  let  Thy  glory  light  mo  to  the  grave, 
That  these,  who  witness  my  departing  breath, 
May  learn  to  triumph  in  the  grasp  of  Death.' 

"He  closed  his  eyelids  with  a  tranquil  smile, 
And  seem'd  to  rest  in  silent  prayer  awhile  : 
Around  his  couch  with  filial  awe  we  kneel'd, 
When  suddenly  a  light  from  Heaven  reveal'd 
A  Spirit,  that  stood  within  the  unopen'd  door;  — 
The  sword  of  God  in  his  right  hand  he  bore; 
His  countenance  was  lightning,  and  his  vest 
Like  snow  at  sunrise  on  the  mountain's  crest; 
Yet  so  benignly  beautiful  his  form, 
His  presence  still'd  the  fury  of  the  storm : 
At  once  the  winds  retire,  the  waters  cease; 
His  look  was  love,  his  salutation,  'Peace!' 

"Our  mother  fir-st  beheld  him,  sore  amazed, 
But  terror  grew  to  transport  while  she  gazed: 


80 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  V. 


«'Xis  lie,  the  Prince  of  Seraphim,  who  drove 

Our  banish'd  feet  from  Eden's  happy  grove;1 

Adam,  my  Life,  my  Spouse,  awake!'  she  cried; 

•  Return  to  Paradise;  behold  thy  Guide! 

0  let  me  follow  in  this  dear  embrace  !' 

She  sunk,  and  on  his  bosom  hid  her  face. 

Adam  look'd  up ;  his  visage  changed  its  hue, 

Transform'd  into  an  Angel's  at  the  view  : 

'I  come !'  he  cried,  with  faith's  full  triumph  fired, 

And  in  a  sigh  of  ecstasy  expired. 

The  light  was  vanish'd  and  the  vision  fled  ; 

We  stood  alone,  the  living  with  the  dead ; 

The  ruddy  embers,  glimmering  round  the  room, 

Display'd  the  corpse  amidst  the  solemn  gloom  : 

But  o'er  the  scene  a  holy  calm  reposed,— 

The  gate  of  Heaven  had  open'd  there,  and  closed. 

Eve's    faithful    arm    still    elasp'd    her   lifeless 
Spouse; 
Gently  I  shook  it,  from  her  trance  to  rouse; 
She  gave  no  answer;  motionless  and  cold, 
It  fell  like  clay  from  my  relaxing  hold  : 
Alarm'd,  I  lifted  up  the  locks  of  grey 
That  hid  her  cheek  ;  her  soul  had  pass'd  away  ! 
A  beauteous  corse  she  graced  her  partner's  side ; 
Love  bound  their  lives,  and  Death  could  not  divide. 

"Trembling  astonishment  of  grief  we  felt, 
Till  Nature's  sympathies  began  to  melt : 
We  wept  in  stillness  through  the  long  dark  night ; 
And  0  how  welcome  was  the  morning  light !" 


CANTO   FIFTH. 

The  Bnrying-place  of  the  Patriarchs.  The  Sacrifice 
on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Fall  of  Adam.  Enoch's 
Prophecy. 

"And  here,"  said  Enoch,  with  dejected  eye, 
"Behold  the  grave  in  which  our  Parents  lie." 
They  stopp'd,  and  o'er  the  turf-enclosure  wept, 
Where,  side  by  side,  the  First-Created  slept : 
It  seem'd  as  if  a  voice,  with  still  small  sound, 
Heard  in  their  bosoms,  issued  from  that  mound : 

"From  earth  we  came,  and  we  return'd  to  earth; 

Descendants  !  spare  the  Dust  that  gave  you  birth  ; 
Though  Death,  the  pain  for  our  transgression  due, 
By  Bad  inheritance  we  left  to  you, 


i  Paradise  Lost,  book  xi.  ver.  238. 


0  let  our  Children  bless  us  in  our  grave, 

And  man  forgive  the  wrong  that  God  forgave !" 

Thence  to  the  altar  Enoch  turn'd  his  face; 
But  Javan  linger'd  in  that  burying-place,— 
A  scene  sequester'd  from  the  haunts  of  men, 
The  loveliest  nook  of  all  that  lovely  glen, 
Where  weary  pilgrims  found  their  last  repose. 
The  little  heaps  were  ranged  iu  comely  rows, 
With  walks  between,  by  friends  and  kindred  trod, 
Who    dress'd   with    duteous    hands    each   hallowM 

sod: 
No  sculptured  monument  was  taught  to  breathe 
His  praises,  whom  the  worm  devour'd  beneath  ; 
The  high,  the  low,  the  mighty,  and  the  fair, 
Equal  in  death,  were  undistinguish'd  there. 
Yet  not  a  hillock  moulder'd  near  that  spot, 
By  one  dishonour'd,  or  by  all  forgot : 
To  some  warm  heart,  the  poorest  dust  was  dear ; 
From  some  kind  eye,  the  meanest  claiin'd  a  tear. 
And  oft  the  living,  by  affection  led, 
Were  wont  to  walk  in  spirit  with  their  dead. 
Where  no  dark  cypress  cast  a  doleful  gloom, 
No  blighting  yew  shed  poison  o'er  the  tomb, 
But,  white  and  red  with  intermingling  flowers, 
The  graves  look'd  beautiful  in  sun  and  showers : 
Green  myrtles  fenced  it,  and  beyond  their  bound 
Ran  the  clear  rill  with  ever-murmuring  sound. 
'T  was  not  a  scene  for  Grief  to  nourish  care; 
It  breathed  of  Hope,  and  moved  the  heart  to  prayer. 

Why  linger'd  Javan  in  that  lone  retreat? 
The  shrine  of  her  that  bare  him  drew  his  feet: 
Trembling  he  sought  it,  fearing  to  behold 
A  bed  of  thistles,  or  unsightly  mould ; 
But,  lo !  the  turf,  which  his  own  hands  had  piled, 
With  choicest  flowers  and  richest  verdure  smiled : 
By  all  the  glen,  his  mother's  couch  of  rest, 
In  his  default,  was  visited  and  blest, 
He  knecl'd,  he  kiss'd  it,  full  of  love  and  woe ; 
His  heart  was  where  his  treasure  lay,  below; 
And  long  he  tarried,  ere,  with  heav'nward  eyes, 
ne  rose,  and  hasten'd  to  the  sacrifice. 

Already,  on  a  neighbouring  mount  that  stood 
Apart  amidst  the  valley,  girt  with  wood, 
Whose  open  summit,  rising  o'er  the  trees, 
Caught  the  cool  fragrance  of  the  evening  breeze, 
The  Patriarchal  Worshippers  were  met : 
The  Lamb  was  brought,  the  wood  in  order  set 


Canto  V. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


81 


On  Adam's  rustic  altar,  moss-o'ergrown, 

An  unwrought  mass  of  earth-embedded  stone, 

Long  known  and  hallow'd,  where,  for  man's  offence, 

The  earth  first  drank  the  blood  of  innocence, 

When  God  himself  ordain'd  the  typic  rite 

To  Eden's  Exiles,  resting  on  their  flight. 

Foremost  amidst  the  group  was  Enoch  seen, 

Known  by  his  humble  port  and  heavenly  mien : 

On  him  the  Priest's  mysterious  office  lay, 

For  'twas  the  eve  of  Man's  transgression-day, 

And  him  had  Adam,  with  expiring  breath, 

Ordain'd  to  offer  yearly,  from  his  death, 

A  victim  on  that  mountain  whence  the  skies 

Had  first  inhaled  the  fumes  of  sacrifice. 

In  Adam's  coat  of  skins  array'd  he  stands, 

Spreading  to  Heaven  his  supplicating  hands, 

Ere  from  his  robe  the  deadly  steel  he  drew 

To  smite  the  victim,  sporting  in  his  view. 

Behind  him  Seth,  in  majesty  confess'd, 

The  World's  great  Elder,  tower'd  above  the  rest. 

Serenely  shone  his  sweet  and  solemn  eye, 

Like  the  sun  reigning  in  the  western  sky  ; 

Though  nine  slow  centuries  by  stealth  had  shed 

Grey  hairs,  the  crown  of  glory,  on  his  head, 

In  hardy  health  he  rear'd  his  front  sublime : 

Like  the  green  aloe,  in  perennial  prime, 

When,  full  of  years,  it  shoots  forth  all  its  bloom, 

And  glads  the  forest  through  the  inmost  gloom ; 

So,  in  the  blossom  of  a  good  old  age, 

Flourish'd  amidst  his  sons  that  peerless  sage. 

Around  him,  in  august  succession,  stood 
The  fathers  of  the  world  before  the  Flood : 

—  Enos;  who  taught  mankind,  on  solemn  days, 
In  sacred  groves  to  meet  for  prayer  and  praise, 
And  warn'd  idolaters  to  lift  their  eye, 

From    sun    and    stars,   to    Him    who    made    the 
sky  : 

—  Canaan  and  Malahel ;  of  whom  alone 
Their  age,  of  all  that  once  they  were,  is  known ; 

—  Jared;  who,  full  of  hope  beyond  the  tomb, 
Hallow'd  his  offspring  from  the  Mother's  womb,1 
And  Heaven  received  the  Son  that  Parent  gave, 
He  walk'd  with  God,  and  overstepp'd  the  grave : 

—  A  mighty  pilgrim  in  the  vale  of  tears, 
Born  to  the  troubles  of  a  thousand  years, 

1  The  name  of  Enoch,  the  son  of  .Tared,  is  derived  from 
chanac,  to  dedicate. 

3  "And  he  called  his  name  Xoah.  saying,  This  same  shall 


Methuselah,  whose  feet  unhalting  ran 

To  the  last  circle  of  the  life  of  man : 

—  Lamech  ;  from  infancy  inured  to  toil, 

To  wring  slow  blessings  from  the  accursed  soil, 

Ere  yet,  to  dress  his  vineyards,  reap  his  corn, 

And  comfort  him  in  care,  was  Noah  born,u 

Who,  in  a  later  age,  by  signal  grace, 

Survived  to  renovate  the  human  race : 

Both  worlds,  by  sad  reversion,  were  his  due, — 

The  Orphan  of  the  old,  the  Father  of  the  new. 

These,  with  their  families  on  either  hand, 
Aliens  and  exiles  in  their  native  land, 
The  few  who  loved  their  Maker  from  their  youth, 
And  worshipp'd  God  in  spirit  and  in  truth; 
These  stood  with  Enoch  :  —  All  had  fix'd  their  eyes 
On  him,  and  on  the  Lamb  of  sacrifice, 
For  now  with  trembling  hand  he  shed  the  blood, 
And  placed  the  slaughter'd  victim  on  the  wood ; 
Then  kneeling,  as  the  sun  went  down,  he  laid 
His  hand  upon  the  hallow'd  pyre,  and  pray'd :  — 
"Maker  of  Heaven  and  earth!  supreme  o'er  all 
That  live,  and  move,  and  breathe,  on  Thee  we  call: 
Our  father  sinn'd  and  suffer'd  ;  —  we,  who  bear 
Our  father's  image,  his  transgression  share; 
Humbled  for  his  offences,  and  our  own, 
Thou,  who  art  holy,  wise,  and  just  alone, 
Accept,  with  free  confession  of  our  guilt, 
This  victim  slain,  this  blood  devoutly  spilt, 
While  through  the  veil  of  sacrifice  we  see 
Thy  mercy  smiling,  and  look  up  to  Thee : 
0  grant  forgiveness  !  power  and  grace  are  thine ; 
God  of  salvation  !  cause  Thy  face  to  shine; 
Hear  us  in  Heaven  !  fulfil  our  souls'  desire, 
God  of  our  father !  answer  now  with  fire." 

He  rose :  no  light  from  Heaven  around  hirn  shone, 
No  fire  descended  from  the  eternal  throne; 
Cold  on  the  pile  the  offer'd  victim  lay, 
Amidst  the  stillness  of  expiring  day. 
The  eyes  of  all  that  watch'd  in  vain  to  view 
The  wonted  sign  distractedly  withdrew; 
Fear  clipp'd  theirbreath,  their  doubling  pulses  raised, 
And  each  by  stealth  upon  his  neighbour  gazed; 
From  heart  to  heart  a  strange  contagion  ran, 
A  shuddering  instinct  crowded  man  to  man ; 

comfort  us  concerning  our  work,  and  toil  of  our  hands,  be- 
cause of  the  ground  which  the  Lord  hath  cursed. — Gen. 
v.  29. 


82 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  V. 


Even  Seth  with  secret  consternation  shook, 
And  cast  on  Enoch  an  imploring  look. 
Enoch,  in  whose  sublime,  unearthly  mien, 
No  change  of  hue,  no  cloud  of  care,  was  seen, 
Full  on  the  mute  assembly  turn'd  his  face, 
Clear  as  the  sun  prepared  to  run  his  race : 
He  spoke;  his  words,  with  awful  warning  fraught, 
Rallied  and  fix'd  the  scatter'd  powers  of  thought. 

"Men,  brethren,  fathers!  wherefore  do  ye  fear? 
Hath  God  departed  from  us?  —  God  is  here; 
Present  in  every  heart,  with  sovereign  power 
He  tries,  He  proves,  His  people  in  this  hour: 
Naked  as  light  to  His  all-searching  eye, 
The  thoughts  that  wrong,  the  doubts    that   tempt 

Him  lie; 
Yet,  slow  to  anger,  merciful  as  just, 
He  knows  our  frame,  remembers  we  arc  dust, 
And  spares  our  weakness  : — -In  His  truth  believe, 
Hope  against  hope,  and  ask  till  ye  receive. 
What  though  no  flame  on  Adam's  altar  burn, 
No  signal  of  acceptance  yet  return, 
God  is  not  man,  who  to  our  father  sware 
All  times,  in  every  place,  to  answer  prayer : 
He  cannot  change;  though  Heaven  and  earth  decay, 
The  word  of  God  shall  never  pass  away. 

"But  mark  the  season:  —  from  the  rising  sun, 
Westward,  the  race  of  Cain  the  world  o'er-run ; 
Their  monarch,  mightiest  of  the  sons  of  men, 
Hath  sworn  destruction  to  the  Patriarchs'  glen  : 
Hither  he  hastens  ;  carnage  strews  his  path  : 
— Who  will  await  the  giant  in  his  wrath  ? 
Or  who  will  take  the  wings  of  silent  night, 
And  seek  deliverance  from  his  sword  by  flight? 
Thus  saith  the  Lord: — Ye  weak  of  faith  and  heart, 
Who  dare  not  trust  the  living  God,  depart ! 
The  Angel  of  His  presence  leads  your  way, 
Your  lives  are  safe,  and  given  you  as  a  prey : 
But  ye,  who,  unappall'd  at  earthly  harm, 
Lean  on  the  strength  of  His  Almighty  arm, 
Prepared  for  life  or  death,  with  firm  accord, 
Stand  still,  and  see  the  glory  of  the  Lord." 

A  pause,  a  dreary  pause,  ensued:  —  then  cried 
The  holy  man, — "On  cither  hand  divide; 
The  feeble  fly ;  with  me  the  valiant  stay  : 
Choose  now  your  portion ;  whom  will  ye  obey, — 
God,  or  your  fears?  nis  counsel,  or  your  own?" 
— "The  Loud;  the  Lord;  for  He  is  God  alone!" 


Exclaim'd  at  once,  with  consentaneous  choice, 
The  whole  assembly,  heart,  and  soul,  and  voice. 
Then  light  from  Heaven  with  sudden  beauty  came, 
Pure  on  the  altar  blazed  the  unkindled  flame, 
And  upwards  to  their  glorious  source  rcturn'd 
The  sacred  fires  in  which  the  victim  buru'd: 
While  through  the  evening  gloom,  to  distant  eyes, 
Morn  o'er  the  Patriarchs'mountains  seem'd  to  rite. 

Awe-struck,  the  congregation  kneel'd  around, 
And  worshipp'd  with  tbeir  faces  to  the  ground; 
The  peace  of  God,  beyond  expression  sweet, 
Fill'd  every  spirit  humbled  at  his  feet, 
And  love,  joy,  wonder,  deeply  mingling  there, 
Drew  from  the  heart  unutterable  prayer. 

They  rose.     As  if  his  soul  had  pass'd  away, 
Prostrate  before  the  altar  Enoch  lay; 
Entranced  so  deeply,  all  believed  him  dead: 
At  length  he  breathed,  he  moved,  he  raised  his  head; 
To  Heaven  in  ecstasy  he  turn'd  his  eyes ; 
— With  such  a  look  the  dead  in  Christ  shall  rise, 
When  the  last  trumpet  calls  them  from  the  dust, 
To  join  the  resurrection  of  the  just:  — 
Yea,  and  from  earthly  grossness  so  refined, 
(As  if  the  soul  had  left  the  flesh  behind. 
Yet  wore  a  mortal  semblance,)  upright  stood 
The  great  Evangelist  before  the  Flood; 
On  him  the  vision  of  the  Almighty  broke, 
And  future  times  were  present  while  he  spoke.1 

"The  Saints  shall  suffer;  righteousness  shall  fail; 
O'er  all  the  world  iniquity  prevail; 
Giants,  in  fierce  contempt  of  man  and  God, 
Shall  rule  the  nations  with  an  iron  rod ; 
On  every  mountain  idol  groves  shall  rise, 
And  darken  Heaven  with  human  sacrifice: 
But  God  the  Avenger  comes, — a  judgment-day, 
A  flood,  shall  sweep  His  enemies  away. 
How  few,  whose  eyes  shall  then  have  seen  the  sun, 
—  One  righteous  family,  and  only  one, — 
Saved  from  that  wreck  of  Nature,  shall  behold 
The  new  Creation  rising  from  the  old! 

"0,  that  the  world  of  wickedness,  destroy'd, 
Might  lie  for  ever  without  form  and  void  ! 
Or,  that  the  earth,  to  innocence  restored, 
Might  flourish  as  the  garden  of  the  Lord  ! 

i  Numbers,  xxiv.  4. 


Canto  V. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


It  will  not  be  :  —  among  the  sons  of  men, 

The  Giant-Spirit  shall  go  forth  again, 

From    clime     to    clime    shall     kindle     murderous 

rage, 
And  spread  the  plagues  of  sin  from  age  to  age ; 
Yet  shall  the  God  of  mercy,  from  above, 
Extend  the  golden  sceptre  of  his  love, 
And  win  the  rebels  to  his  righteous  sway, 
Till  every  mouth  confess,  and  heart  obey. 

"  Amidst  the  visions  of  ascending  years, 
What  mighty  Chief,  what  Conqueror,  appears  ; ' 
His  garments  roll'd  in  blood,  his  eyes  of  flame, 
And  on  his  thigh  the  unutterable  name?2 
— '  'Tis  I  that  bring  deliverance  :  strong  to  save, 
I   pluck'd   the   prey  from    death,  and   spoil'd   the 

grave.' 
--Wherefore,  0  Warrior!  are  thy  garments  red, 
Like  those  whose  feet  amidst  the  vintage  tread  ? 

—  '  I  trod  the  wine-press  of  the  field  alone ; 

I  look'd  around  for  succour  ;  there  was  none  ; 
Therefore  my  wrath  sustain'd  me  while  I  fought, 
And  mine  own  arm  my  Saints'  salvation  wrought." 

—  Thus  may  thine  arm  for  evermore  prevail ; 
Thus  may  thy  foes,  0  Lord  !  for  ever  fail ; 
Captive  by  thee  captivity  be  led; 

Seed  of  the  woman  !  bruise  the  serpent's  head  ; 
Redeemer !  promised  since  the  world  began, 
Bow  thy  high  heavens,  and  condescend  to  man. 

"  Hail  to  the  Day-spring  !  dawning  from  afar, 
Bright  in  the  east  I  see  his  natal  star : 
Prisoners  of  hope  !  lift  up  your  joyful  eyes  ; 
Welcome  the  King  of  Glory  from  the  skies  : 
Who  is  the  King  of  Glory? — -Mark  his  birth  : 
Ih  deep  humility  he  stoops  to  earth, 
Assumes  a  Servant's  form,  a  Pilgrim's  lot, 
Comes  to  his  own,  his  own  receive  him  not, 
Though  angel-choirs  his  peaceful  advent  greet, 
And  Gentile  sages  worship  at  his  feet. 

"  Fair   as    that    sovereign    Plant,   whose   scions 
shoot 
With  healing  verdure,  and  immortal  fruit, 
The  Tree  of  Life,  beside  the  stream  that  laves 
The  fields  of  Paradise  with  gladdening  waves  ; 
Behold  him  rise  from  infancy  to  youth, 
The  Father's  image,  full  of  grace  and  truth  ; 


i  Isa.  Ixiii.  1-6. 


''  Itev.  xix.  12. 


Tried,  tempted,  proved  in  secret,  till  the  hour 

When,  girt  with  meekness,  but  array'd  with  power, 

Forth  in  the  spirit  of  the  Lord,  at  length, 

Like  the  sun  shining  in  meridian  strength, 

He  goes  :  —  to  preach  good  tidings  to  the  poor ; 

To  heal  the  wounds  that  nature  cannot  cure; 

To  bind  the  broken-hearted :  to  control 

Disease  and  death;  to  raise  the  sinking  soul; 

Unbar  the  dungeon,  set  the  captive  free, 

Proclaim  the  joyous  year  of  liberty, 

And,  from  the  depth  of  undiseover'd  night, 

Bring  life  and  immortality  to  light. 

"  How  beauteous  on  the  mountains  are  thy  feet, 
Thy  form  how  comely,  and  thy  voice  how  sweet, 
Son  of  the  highest !  —  Who  can  tell  thy  fame  ? 
The  Deaf  shall  hear  it,  while  the  Dumb  proclaim  ; 
Now  bid  the  Blind  behold  their  Saviour's  light, 
The  Lame  go  forth  rejoicing  in  their  might; 
Cleanse  with  a  touch  yon  kneeling  Leper's  skin; 
Cheer  this  pale  Penitent,  forgive  her  sin  ; 
0,  for  that  Mother's  faith,  her  Daughter  spare; 
Restore  the  Maniac  to  a  Father's  prayer; 
Pity  the  tears  that  mournful  Sisters  shed, 
And  Be  the  Resurrection  op  the  Dead! 


"  What  scene  is  this  ?  —  Amidst  involving  gloom 
The  moonlight  lingers  on  a  lonely  tomb; 
No  noise  disturbs  the  garden's  hallow'd  bound, 
But  the  watch  walking  on  their  midnight  round: 
Ah  !  who  lies  here,  with  marr'd  and  bloodless  mien, 
In  whom  no  form  or  comeliness  is  seen ; 
His  livid  limbs  with  nails  and  scourges  torn, 
His  side  transpierced,  his    temples  wreathed  with 

thorn  ? 
'Tis  He,  the  Man  of  Sorrows  !     He  who  bore 
Our  sins  and  chastisement:  —  His  toils  are  o'er: 
On  earth  erewhile  a  suffering  life  he  led ; 
Here  hath  he  found  a  place  to  lay  his  head  : 
Rank'd  with  transgressors  he  resign'd  his  breath, 
But  with  the  rich  he  made  his  bed  in  death. 
Sweet  is  the  grave,  where  Angels  watch  and  weep  > 
Sweet  is  the  grave,  and  sanctified  his  sleep; 
Rest,  0  my  spirit !  by  this  martyr'd  form, 
This  wreck,  that  sunk  beneath  the  Almighty  storm, 
When  floods    of  wrath  that  weigh'd  the  world   to 

hell, 
On  Him  alone  in  righteous  vengeance  fell; 


84 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VI. 


While  men  derided,  demons  urged,  his  woes, 

And  God  forsook  him,  —  till  the  awful  close  ; 

Then,  in  triumphant  agony,  He  cried, 

'  'Tis  finish'd  ! '  —  bow'd  his  sacred  head,  and  died. 

Death,  as  he  struck  that  noblest  victim,  found 

His  sting  was  lost  for  ever  in  the  wound ; 

The  Grave,  that  holds  his  corse,  her  richest  prize, 

Shall  yield  him  back,  victorious,  to  the  skies. 

He  lives  :  ye  bars  of  steel  !  ye  gates  of  brass  ! 

Give  way  and  let  the  King  of  Glory  pass  :  — 

He  lives  :  ye  golden  portals  of  the  spheres  ! 

Open  !  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  appears. 

But,  ah  !  my  spirit  faints  beneath  the  blaze 

That  breaks  and  brightens  o'er  the  latter  days, 

When  every  tongue  his  trophies  shall  proclaim, 

And  every  knee  shall  worship  at  his  name  ; 

For  He  shall  reign  with  undivided  power, 

To  Earth's  last  bounds,  to  Nature's  final  hour. 

"  'Tis    done  :  —  again   tho  conquering  Chief  ap- 
pears 
In  the  dread  vision  of  dissolving  years : 
His  vesture  dipp'd  in  blood,  his  eyes  of  flame, 
The  Word  of  God  his  everlasting  name;1 
Throned    in    mid-heaven,    with    clouds    of    glory 

spread, 
He  sits  in  judgment  on  the  quick  and  dead : 
Strong  to  deliver  :  Saints  !  your  songs  prepare  : 
Rush  from  your  tombs  to  meet  him  in  the  air : 
But  terrible  in  vengeance  ;  Sinners  !  bow2 
Your  haughty  heads,  the  grave  protects  not  now  : 
He  who  alone  in  mortal  conflict  trod 
The  mighty  wine-press  of  the  wrath  of  God, 
Shall  fill  the  cup  of  trembling  to  his  foes, 
The  unmingled  cup  of  inexhausted  woes  ; 
The  proud  shall  drink  it  in  that  dreadful  day, 
While    Earth     dissolves,    and    Heaven     is     roll'd 
away." 

Here  ceased  the  Prophet :  —  from  the  altar  broke 
The  last  dim  wreaths  of  fire-illumined  smoke; 
Darkness  had  fall'n  around;  but  o'er  the  streams 
The    Moon,    new-ris'n,    diffused    her    brightening 

beams : 
Homeward,  with  tears,  the  worshippers  return'd, 
Yet,  while    they   wept,    their   hearts   ■within   them 
burn'd. 


1  Rev.  xix.  1—3. 


2  Juile,  14-1G. 


CANTO    SIXTH. 

Japan's  second  lutcriieic  with  Zillah.  He  visits  the 
various  Dwellings  scattered  throughout  the  Glen, 
and,  in  the  Evening,  sings  to  his  Harp,  amidst  the 
assembled  Inhabitants:  —  Address  to  Twilight; 
Jubal's  Song  of  the  Creation  :  the  Power  of  Music 
exemplified. 

Spent  with  the  toils  of  that  eventful  day, 

All  night  in  dreamless  slumber  Javan  lay; 

But,  early  springing  from  his  bed  of  leaves, 

Waked  by  the  songs  of  swallows  on  the  eaves, 

From  Enoch's  cottage,  in  the  cool  grey  hour, 

He  wandcr'd  forth  to  Zillah's  woodland  bower. 

There,  in  his  former  covert,  on  the  ground 

The  frame  of  his  forsaken  harp  he  found : 

He  smote  the  boss ;  the  convex  orb,  unstrung, 

Instant  with  sweet  reverberation  rung  : 

The  minstrel  smiled,  at  that  sonorous  stroke, 

To  find  the  spell  of  harmony  unbroke  : 

Trickling  with  dew,  he  bore  it  to  the  cell : 

There,    as   with    leaves    he    dried    the    sculptured 

shell, 
He  thought  of  Zillah ;  and  resolved,  too  late, 
To  plead  his  constancy,  and  know  his  fate. 

She,  from  the  hour  when,  in  a  pilgrim's  guise, 
Javan  return'd,—  a  stranger  to  her  eyes. 
Not  to  her  heart, —  from  anguish  knew  no  rest: 
Love,  pride,  resentment,  struggling  in  her  breast. 
All  day  she  strove  to  hide  her  misery, 
In  vain  ;  —  a  mother's  eye  is  quick  to  see, 
Slow  to  rebuke,  a  daughter's  bashful  fears, 
And  Zillah's  mother  only  chid  with  tears  : 
I  Night  came,  but  Javan  came  not  with  the  night ; 
Light  vanish'd,  Hope  departed  with  the  light; 
Her  lonely  couch  conceal'd  her  sleepless  woes, 
But  with  the  morning  star  the  maiden  rose. 
The  soft  refreshing  breeze,  the  orient  beams, 
The  dew,  the  mist  unrolling  from  the  streams, 
The  light,  the  joy,  the  music  of  the  hour, 
Stole  on  her  spirit  with  resistless  power. 
With  healing  sweetness  soothed  her  fever'd  brain, 
And  woke  the  pulse  of  tenderness  again. 
Thus  while  she  wandcr'd,  with  unconscious  feet, 
Absent  in  thought  she  reach'd  her  sylvan  seat, 
The  youth  descried  her  not  amidst  the  wood, 
Till,  like  a  vision,  at  bie  side  she  stood. 


Canto  VI. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Their  eyes  encounter'd;  both  at  once  exclaim'd, 
"  Javan  !"  and  "  Zillah  !" — each  the  other  named; 
Those  sounds  were  life  or  death  to  either  heart : 
He  rose;  she  turn'd  in  terror  to  depart; 
He  caught  her  hand :  — "  0  do  not,  do  not  flee !" 

—  It  was  a  moment  of  eternity, 

And  now  or  never  must  he  plight  his  vow, 
Win  or  abandon  her  for  ever  now. 

"  Stay  :  —  hear  me,  Zillah  !  —  every  power  above, 
Heaven,  earth,  thyself,  bear  witness  to  my  love  ! 
Thee  have  I  loved  from  earliest  infancy, 
Loved  with  supreme  affection  only  thee. 
Long  in  these  shades  my  timid  passion  grew, 
Through  every  change,  in  every  trial,  true; 
I  loved  thee  through  the  world  in  dumb  despair, 
Loved  thee,  that  I  might  love  no  other  fair; 
Guilty,  yet  faithful  still,  to  thee  I  fly  ; 
Receive  me,  love  me,  Zillah  !  or  I  die." 

Thus  Javan's  lips,  so  long  in  silence  seal'd, 
With  sudden  vehemence  his  soul  reveal'd; 
Zillah  meanwhile  recover'd  power  to  speak, 
While  deadly  paleness  overcast  her  cheek  : 
— "  Say  not,  'I  love  thee  !'— Witness  every  tree 
Around  this  bower  thy  cruel  scorn  of  me  ! 
Could    Javan    love    me    through    the   world,   yet 

leave 
Her  whom  he  loved,  for  hopeless  years,  to  grieve? 
Returning,  could  he  find  her  here  alone, 
Yet  pass  her  by,  unknowing  as  unknown? 
All  day  was  she  forsaken,  or  forgot? 
Did  Javan  seek  her  at  her  father's  cot? 
That  cot  of  old  so  much  his  soul's  delight, 
His  mother's  seem'd  not  fairer  in  his  sight: 
No:  Javan  mocks  me;  none  could  love  so  well, 
So  long,  so  painfully, —  and  never  tell." 

"  Love  owns  no  law,"  rejoin'd  the  pleading  youth, 
"  Except  obedience  to  eternal  truth  : 
Deep  streams  are  silent;  from  the  generous  breast, 
The  dearest  feelings  are  the  last  confest : 
Erewhile  I  strove  in  vain  to  break  my  peace, 
Now  I  could  talk  of  love  and  never  cease : 

—  Still  had  my  trembling  passion  been  conceal'd, 
Still  but  in  parables  by  stealth  reveal'd, 

Had  not  thine  instantaneous  presence  wrung, 
By  swift  surprise,  the  secret  from  my  tongue. 
Yet  hath  Affection  language  of  her  own, 
And  mine  in  every  thing  but  words  was  shown ; 


In  childhood,  as  the  bird  of  nature  free, 
My  song  was  gladness,  when  I  sung  to  thee; 
In  youth,  when'cr  I  mourn'd  a  bosom  flame 
And  praised  a  maiden  whom  I  durst  not  name, 
Couldst  thou  not  then  my  hidden  thought  divine? 
Didst  thou  not  feel  that  I  was  wholly  thine? 
When  for  vain  glory  I  forsook  thee  here, 
Dear  as  thou  wert,  unutterably  dear, 
From  virtue,  truth,  and  innocence  estranged, 
To  thee,  thee  only,  was  my  heart  unchanged; 
And  as  I  loved  without  a  hope  before, 
Without  a  hope  I  loved  thee  yet  the  more. 
At  length,  when,  weary  of  the  ways  of  men, 
Refuge  I  sought  in  this  maternal  glen. 
Thy  sweet  remembrance  drew  me  from  afar, 
And  Zillah's  beauty  was  my  leading  star. 
Here  when  I  found  thee,  fear  itself  grew  bold, 
Methought  my  tale  of  love  already  told ; 
But  soon  thine  eyes  the  dream  of  folly  broke, 
And  I  from  bliss,  as  they  from  slumber,  woke ; 
My  heart,  my  tongue,  were  chill'd  to  instant  stone, 
I  durst  not  speak  thy  name,  nor  give  my  own. 
When  thou  wert  vanish'd,  horror  and  affright 
Seized  me,  my  sins  uprose  bofore  my  sight; 
Like  fiends  they  rush'd  upon  me  ;  but  Despair 
Wrung  from  expiring  Faith  a  broken  prayer; 
Strength    came :    the   path    to    Enoch's    bower  I 

trod  ; 
He  saw  me,  met  me,  led  me  back  to  God. 

0  Zillah  !  while  I  sought  my  Maker's  grace, 
And  flesh  and  spirit  fail'd  before  His  face, 
Thy  tempting  image  from  my  breast  I  drove, 
It  was  no  season  then  for  earthly  love." 

"  For  earthly  love  it  is  no  season  now," 
Exclaim'd  the  maiden,  with  reproachful  brow, 
And  eyes  through  tears  of  tenderness  that  shone, 
And  voice  half  peace  half  anger  iu  its  tone. 
"Freely  thy  past  unkindness  I  forgive; 
Content  to  perish  here,  so  Javan  live: 
The  tyrant's  menace  to  our  tribe  we  know; 
The  Patriarchs  never  seek,  nor  shun,  a  foe; 
Thou,   while   thou   mayst,   from   swift   destruction 
fly: 

1  and  my  father's  house  resolve  to  die." 

"With  thee  and  with  thy  father's  house,  to  bear 
Death  or  captivity,  is  Javan's  prayer  ; 
Remorse  for  ever  be  the  recreant  lot : 
If  I  forsake  thee  now,  I  love  thee  not." 


86 


THE  WOULD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VI. 


Thus  while  ho  vow'd,  a  gentle  answer  sprung 
To  Zillah's  lips,  but  died  upon  her  tongue  ; 
Trembling  she  turn'd,  and  hasten'd  to  the  rock, 
Beyond  those  woods,  that  hid  her  folded  Sock, 
'Whose  Heatings  reach'd  her  ear,  with  loud   com- 
plaint 
Of  her  delay;  she  loosed  them  from  restraint; 
Then  bounding  headlong  forth,  with  antic  glee, 
They  roaui'd  in  all  the  joy  of  liberty. 
Javan  beside  her  walk'd  as  in  a  dream, 
Nor  more  of  love  renew'd  the  fruitless  theme. 

Forthwith,  from  home   to  home  throughout  the 
glen, 
The  friends  whom  once  he  knew  he  sought  again; 
Each  hail'd  the  stranger  welcome  at  his  board, 
As  lost  but  found,  as  dead  to  life  restored. 
From  Eden's  camp  no  tidings  came :  the  day 
In  awful  expectation  pass'd  away. 
At  eve  his  harp  the  fond  enthusiast  strung, 
On  Adam's  mount,  and  to  the  Patriarchs  sung; 
While  youth  and  age,  an  eager  throng  admire 
The  mingling  music  of  the  voice  and  lyre. 

"  I  love  thee,  Twilight !  as  thy  shadows  roll, 
The  calm  of  evening  steals  upon  my  soul, 
Sublimely  tender,  solemnly  serene, 
Still  as  the  hour,  enchanting  as  the  scene. 
I  love  thee,  Twilight !  for  thy  gleams  impart 
Their  dear,  their  dying  influence  to  my  heart, 
When  o'er  the  harp  of  thought  thy  passing  wind 
Awakens  all  the  music  of  the  mind, 
And  Joy  and  Sorrow,  as  the  spirit  burns, 
And  Hope  and  Memory,  sweep  the  chords  by  turns  : 
While  Contemplation,  on  seraphic  wings, 
Mounts  with  the  flame  of  sacrifice,  and  sings. 
Twilight!  I  love  thee;  let  thy  glooms  increase 
Till  every  feeling,  every  pulse,  is  peace : 
Slow  from  the  sky  the  light  of  day  declines, 
Clearer  within  the  dawn  of  glory  shines, 
Revealing,  in  the  hour  of  Nature's  rest, 
A  world  of  wonders  in  the  poet's  breast. 
Deeper,  0  Twilight !  then  thy  shadows  roll, 
An  awful  vision  opens  on  my  soul. 

"  On  such  an  evening,  so  divinely  calm, 
The  woods  all  melody,  the  breezes  balm, 
Down  in  a  vale,  where  lucid  waters  stray'd, 
And    mountain-cedars    stretch'd     their    downward 
shade, 


Jubal,  the  Prince  of  song  (in  youth  unknown), 

Retired  to  eommnne  with  his  harp  alone  : 

For  still  he  nursed  it,  like  a  secret  thought 

Long  eherish'd  and  to  late  perfection  wrought, — 

And  still  with  cunning  hand,  and  curious  ear, 

Enrich'd,  ennobled,  and  enlarged  its  sphere, 

Till  he  had  compass'd,  in  that  magic  round, 

A  soul  of  harmony,  a  heaven  of  sound. 

Then  sang  the  minstrel,  in  his  laurel  bower, 

Of  Nature's  origin,  and  Music's  power. 

— 'He  spake,  and  it  was  done;  —  Eternal  Night, 

At  God's  command,  awaken'd  into  light; 

He  call'd  the  elements,  Earth,  Ocean,  Air, 

He  call'd  them  when  they  were  not,  and  they  were : 

He  look'd  through  space,  and,  kindling  o'er  the  sky, 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  came  forth  to  meet  his  eye : 

His  spirit  moved  upon  the  desert  earth, 

And  sudden  life  through  all  things  swarm'd  to  birth; 

Man  from  the  dust  He  raised  to  rule  the  whole; 

He  breathed,  and  man  became  a  living  soul : 

Through  Eden's  groves  the  Lord  of  Nature  trod, 

Upright  and  pure,  the  image  of  his  God. 

Thus  were  the  heavens  and  all  their  host  display'd, 

In  wisdom  thus  were  earth's  foundations  laid  : 

The  glorious  scene  a  holy  sabbath  closed ; 

Amidst  his  works  the  Omnipotent  reposed; 

And  while  He  view'd  and  bless'd  them  from  his  seat, 

All  worlds,  all  beings,  worshipp'd  at  his  feet: 

The  morning  stars  in  choral  concert  sang, 

The  rolling  deep  with  halleluiahs  rang, 

Adoring  angels  from  their  orbs  rejoice: 

The  voice  of  Music  was  Creation's  voice. 

"  'Alone  along  the  lyre  of  Nature  sigh'd 
The  master-chord,  to  which  no  chord  replied : 
For  Man,  while  bliss  and  beauty  reign'd  around, 
For  Man  alone,  no  fellowship  was  found, 
No  fond  companion,  in  whose  dearer  breast 
His  heart,  repining  in  his  own  might  rest; 
For,  born  to  love,  the  heart  delights  to  roam, 
A  kindred  bosom  is  its  happiest  home. 
On  earth's  green  lap,  the  Father  of  Mankind, 
In  mild  dejection,  thoughtfully  reclined  ; 
Soft  o'er  his  eyes  a  sealing  slumber  crept, 
And  Fancy  soothed  him  while  Reflection  slept. 
Then    (ion  —  who    thus  would    make    his    counsel 

known, 
Counsel  that  will'd  not  man  to  dwell  alone  — 
Created  Women  with  a  smile  of  grace, 
And  left  the  smile  that  made  her  on  her  face. 


Caxto  VI. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


87 


The  Patriarch's  eyelids  open'd  on  his  bride, 
—  The  morn  of  beauty  risen  from  his  side ! 
He  gazed  with  new-born  rapture  on  her  charms, 
And  Love's  first  whispers  won  her  to  his  arms, 
Then,  tuned  through  all  the  chords  supremely  sweet, 
Exulting  Nature  found  her  lyre  complete, 
And,  from  the  key  of  each  harmonious  sphere, 
Struck  music  worthy  of  her  Maker's  ear.' 

"Here  Jubal  paused;  for  grim  before  him  lay, 
Couch'd  like  a  lion  watching  for  his  prey, 
With  blood-red  eye  of  fascinating  fire, 
Fix'd,  like  the  gazing  serpent's,  on  the  lyre, 
An  awful  form,  that  through  the  gloom  appear'd 
Half  brute,  half  human ;  whose  terrific  beard, 
And  hoary  flakes  of  long  dishevell'd  hair, 
Like  eagle's  plumage  ruffled  by  the  air, 
Veil'd  a  sad  wreck  of  grandeur  ami  of  grace, 
Limbs  worn  and  wounded,  a  majestic  face, 
Dcep-plough'd  by  Time,  and  ghastly  pale  with  woes, 
That  goaded  till  remorse  to  madness  rose  : 
Haunted  by  phantoms,  he  had  fled  his  home, 
With  savage  beasts  in  solitude  to  roam ; 
Wild  as  the  waves,  and  wandering  as  the  wind, 
No  art  could  tame  him,  and  no  chains  could  bind : 
Already  seven  disastrous  years  had  shed 
Mildew  and  blast  on  his  unshelter'd  head  ; 
His  brain  was  smitten  by  the  sun  at  noon, 
His  heart  was  wither'd  by  the  cold  night-moon. 

"'T  was  Cain,  the  sire  of  nations  :  —  Jubal  knew 
His  kindred  looks,  and  tremblingly  withdrew  ; 
He,  darting  like  the  blaze  of  sudden  fire, 
Leap'd  o'er  the  space  between,  and  grasped  the  lyre; 
Sooner  with  life  the  struggling  bard  would  part, 
And,  ere  the  fiend  could  tear  it  from  his  heart, 
He  hurl'd  his  hand  with  one  tremendous  stroke 
O'er  all  the  strings ;  whence  in  a  whirlwind  broke 
Such  tones  of  terror,  dissonance,  despair, 
As  till  that  hour  had  never  jarr'd  in  air. 
Astonish'd  into  marble  at  the  shock, 
Backward  stood  Cain,  unconscious  as  a  rock, 
Cold,  breathless,  motionless  through  all  his  frame : 
But  soon  his  visage  quicken'd  into  flame, 
When  Jubal's  hand  the  crashing  jargon  changed 
To  melting  harmony,  and  nimbly  ranged 
From  chord  to  chord,  ascending  sweet  and  clear, 
Then  rolling  down  in  thunder  on  the  ear; 
With  power  the  pulse  of  anguish  to  restrain, 
And  charm  the  evil  spirit  from  the  brain. 


"Slowly  recovering  from  that  trance  profound, 
Bewilder'd,  touch'd,  transported  with  the  sound, 
Cain  view'd  himself,  the  bard,  the  earth,  the  sky, 
While  wonder  flash'd  and  faded  in  his  eye, 
And  reason,  by  alternate  frenzy  crost, 
Now  seem'd  restored,  and  now  for  ever  lost. 
So   shines    the   moon,    by   glimpses,    through   her 

shrouds, 
When  windy  Darkness  rides  upon  the  clouds, 
Till  through  the  blue,  serene,  and  silent  night, 
She  reigns  in  full  tranquillity  of  light. 
Jubal,  with  eager  hope,  beheld  the  chase 
Of  strange  emotions  hurrying  o'er  his  face, 
And  wak'd  his  noblest  numbers  to  control 
The  tide  and  tempest  of  the  maniac's  soul : 
Through  many  a  maze  of  melody  they  flew, 
They  rose  like  incense,  they  distill'd  like  dew, 
Pour'd  through  the  sufferer's  breast  delicious  balm, 
And  soothed  remembrance  till  remorse  grew  calm, 
Till  Cain  forsook  the  solitary  wild, 
Led  by  the  minstrel  like  a  weaned  child. 
0 !  had  you  seen  him  to  his  home  restored, 
How  young  and  old  ran  forth  to  meet  their  lord ; 
How  friends  and  kindred  on  his  neck  did  fall, 
AVeeping  aloud,  while  Cain  outwept  them  all : 
But  hush  !  —  thenceforward  when  recoiling  care 
Lower'd  on  his  brow,  and  sadden'd  to  despair, 
The  lyre  of  Jubal,  with  divinest  art, 
Repell'd  the  demon,  and  revived  his  heart. 
Thus  Song,  the  breath  of  heaven,  had  power  to  bind 
In  chains  of  harmony  the  mightiest  mind; 
Thus  Music's  empire  in  the  soul  began, 
The  first-born  Poet  ruled  the  first-born  Man." 

While  Javan  sang,  the  shadows  fell  around, 
The  moving  glow-worm  brighten'd  on  the  ground. 
He  ceased  :  the  mute  assembly  rose  in  tears  ; 
Delight  and  wonder  were  chastised  with  fears; 
That  heavenly  harmony,  unheard  before, 
Awoke  the  feeling, — "Who  shall  hear  it  more?" 
The  sun  had  set  in  glory  on  their  sight, 
For  them  in  vain  might  morn  restore  the  light; 
Though  self-devoted,  through  each  mortal  frame, 
At  thought  of  Death,  a  cold  sick  shuddering  came, 
Nature's  infirmity;  —  but  faith  was  given, 
The  flame  that  lifts  the  sacrifice  to  Heaven  : 
Through  doubt  and  darkness  then  beyond  the  skies 
Eternal  prospects  open'd  on  their  eyes ; 
Already  seem'd  the  immortal  spirit  free, 
And  Death  was  swallow'd  up  in  victory. 


88 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VII. 


CANTO    SEVENTH. 

The  Patriarchs  and  their  Families  carried  away 
captive  by  a  Detachment  from  the  Army  of  the 
Invaders.  The  Tomb  of  Abel:  his  Murder  by 
Cain  described.  The  Oriijin  of  the  Giants:  the 
Infancy  and  early  Adventures  of  their  King:  the 
Leader  of  their  Host  encamped  in  Eden. 

The  flocks  and  herds  throughout  the  glen  reposed; 
No  human  eyelid  there  in  slumher  closed  ; 
None,  save  the  infant's  on  the  mother's  breast ;  — 
With  arms  of  love  caressing  and  earest, 
She,  while  her  elder  offspring  round  her  clung, 
Each  eye  intent  on  hers,  and  mute  each  tongue, 
The  voice  of  Death  in  every  murmur  heard, 
And  felt  his  touch  in  every  limb  that  stirr'd. 

At  midnight,  down  the  forest  hills,  a  train 
Of  eager  warriors  from  the  host  of  Cain 
Burst  on  the  stillness  of  the  scene  :  —  they  spread 
In  bands,  to  clutch  the  victims  ere  they  fled : 
Of  flight  unmindful,  at  their  summons,  rose 
Those  victims,  meekly  yielding  to  their  foes; 
Though  woman  wept  to  leave  her  home  behind, 
The  weak  were  comforted,  the  strong  resign'd, 
And  ere  the  moon,  descending  o'er  the  vale, 
Grew,  at  the  bright  approach  of  morning,  pale, 
Collected  thus,  the  patriarchal  clan, 
With  strengthen'd  confidence,  their  march  began, 
Since  not  in  ashes  were  their  dwellings  laid, 
And  death,  though  threaten'd  still,  was  still  dclay'd. 
Struck  with  their  fearless  innocence,  they  saw 
Their  fierce  assailants  chcek'd  with  sacred  awe ; 
The  foe  became  a  phalanx  of  defence, 
And  brought  them,  like  a  guard  of  angels,  thence. 
A  vista-path,  that  through  the  forest  led, 
(By  Javan  shunn'd  when  from  the  camp  he  fled,) 
The  pilgrims  track'd  till  on  the  mountain's  height 
They  met  the  sun  new  risen,  in  glorious  light; 
Empurpled  mists  along  the  landscape  roll'd, 
And  all  the  orient  flamed  with  clouds  of  gold. 

Here,  while  they  halted,  on  their  knees  they  raise 
To  God  the  sacrifice  of  prayer  and  praise : 
— "Glory  to  Thee,  for  every  blessing  shed, 
In  days  of  peace,  on  our  protected  head  ; 
Glory  to  Thee,  for  fortitude  to  bear 
The  wrath  of  man,  rejoicing  o'er  despair; 


Glory  to  Thee,  whatever  ill  befall, 

For  faith  on  thy  victorious  name  to  call  : 

Thine  own  eternal  purposes  fulfil; 

We  come,  0  God  !  to  suffer  all  Thy  will." 

Refresh'd  and  rested,  on  their  course  they  went, 
Ere  the  clouds  melted  from  the  firmament; 
Odours  abroad  the  winds  of  morning  breathe, 
And  fresh  with  dew  the  herbage  sprang  beneath  : 
Down  from  the  hills,  that  gently  sloped  away 
To  the  broad  river  shining  into  day, 
They  pass'd;  along  the  brink  the  path  they  kept, 
Where  high  aloof  o'er-arching  willows  wept, 
Whose  silvery  foliage  glisten'd  in  the  beam, 
And  floating  shadows  fringed  the  chequer'd  stream. 

Adjacent  rose  a  myrtle-planted  mound, 
Whose  spiry  top  a  granite  fragment  crown'd  ; 
Tinctured  with  many-colour'd  moss,  the  stone, 
Rich  as  a  cloud  of  summer-evening,  shone 
Amidst  encircling  verdure,  that  array'd 
The  beauteous  hillock  with  a  cope  of  shade. 

"Javan  !"  said  Enoch,  "on  this  spot  began 
The  fatal  curse  ;  —  man  perish'd  here  by  man  ; 
The  earliest  death  a  son  of  Adam  died 
Was  murder,  and  that  murder  fratricide! 
Here  Abel  fell  a  corse  along  this  shore; 
Here  Cain's  recoiling  footsteps  reek'd  with  gore : 
Horror  upraised  his  locks,  unloosed  his  knees; 
He  heard  a  voice;  he  bid  among  the  trees: 
—  'Where   is   thy  brother ?'— from  the  whirlwind 

came 
The  voice  of  God,  amidst  enfolding  flame: 
— 'Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?' — hoarse  and  low, 
Cain   mutter'd   from   the    copse,  —  'that   I   should 
know!'  [skies, 

— 'What  hast  thou  done?  —  For  vengeance  to  the 
Lo !  from  the  dust  the  blood  of  Abel  cries. 
Curst  from  the  earth  that  drank  his  blood,  with  toil 
Thine  hand  shall  plough  in  vain  her  barren  soil : 
An  exile  and  a  wanderer  thou  shall  be ; 
A  brother's  eye  shall  never  look  on  thee  !' 

"The  shuddering  culprit  answer'd  in  despair, 
— 'Greater  the  punishment  than  flesh  can  bear.' 
— 'Yet  shalt  thou  bear  it:  on  thy  brow  revcal'd. 
Thus  be  thy  sentence  and  thy  safeguard  seal'd  !' 
Silently,  swiftly  as  the  lightning's  blast, 
A  hand  of  fire  athwart  his  temples  pass'd  : 


Canto  VII. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


S9 


Ho  ran,  as  in  the  terror  of  a  dream, 

To  quench  his  burning  anguish  in  the  stream  : 

But,  bending  o*er  the  brink,  the  swelling  wave 

Back  to  the  eye  his  branded  image  gave  : 

As  soon  on  murder'd  Abel  durst  he  look  ; 

Yet  power  to  fly  his  palsied  limbs  forsook. 

There,  turn'd  to  stone  for  his  presumptuous  crime, 

A  monument  of  wrath  to  latest  time, 

Might  Cain  have  stood  :  but  Mercy  raised  his  head 

In  prayer  for  help, — -his  strength  return'd, —  he  fled. 

That  mound  of  myrtles  o'er  their  favourite  child, 

Eve  planted,  and  the  hand  of  Adam  piled; 

Yon  mossy  stone,  above  his  ashes  raised, 

His  altar  once,  with  Abel's  offering  blazed 

When  God  well  pleased  beheld  the  flames  .arise, 

And  smiled  acceptance  on  the  sacrifice." 

Enoch  to  Javan,  walking  at  his  side, 
Thus  held  discourse  apart ;  the  youth  replied  : 
"Relieved  from  toil,  though  Cain  is  gone  to  rest, 
And  the  turf  flowers  on  his  disburden'd  breast, 
Among  his  race  the  murdering  spirit  reigns, 
But  riots  fiercest  in  the  giants'  veins. 
—  Sprung  from  false  leagues,  when  monstrous  love 

combined 
The  sons  of  God  and  daughters  of  mankind, 
Self-styled  the  progeny  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Eden  first  gave  the  world's  oppressors  birth ; 
Thenee  far  away,  beneath  the  rising  moon, 
Or  where  the  shadow  vanishes  at  noon, 
The  adulterous  mothers  from  the  sires  withdrew : 
— Nurst  in  luxuriant  climes  their  offspring  grew  ; 
Till,  as  in  stature  o'er  mankind  they  tower'd, 
And  giant-strength  all  mortal  strength  o'erpower'd, 
To  heaven  the  proud  blasphemers  raised  their  eyes, 
And  scorn'd  the  tardy  vengeance  of  the  skies  : 
On  earth  invincible,  they  sternly  broke 
Love's  willing  bonds,  and  Nature's  kindred  yoke; 
Mad  for  dominion,  with  remorseless  sway, 
Compell'd  their  reptile-brethren  to  obey, 
And   dooui'd   their  human    herds,    with   thankless 

toil, 
Like  brutes,  to  grow  and  perish  on  the  soil, 
Their  sole  inheritance,  through  lingering  years, 
The  bread  of  misery  and  the  cup  of  tears, 
The  tasks  of  oxen,  with  the  hire  of  slaves, 
Dishonour'd  lives,  and  desecrated  graves. 

"When  war, — that  self-inflicted  scourge  of  man, 
His  boldest  crime  and  bitterest  curse, —  began  ; 


As  lions  fierce,  as  forest  cedars  tall, 

And  terrible  as  torrents  in  their  fall, 

Headlong  from  rocks,  through  vales  and  vineyards 

hurl'd, 
These  men  of  prey  laid  waste  the  eastern  world; 
They  taught  their  tributary  hordes  to  wield 
The  sword,  red-flaming,  through  the  death-strown 

field, 
With  strenuous  arm  the  uprooted  rock  to  throw, 
Glance  the  light  arrow  from  the  bounding  bow, 
Whirl  the  broad  shield  to  meet  the  darted  stroke, 
And  stand  to  combat,  like  the  unyielding  oak, 
Then  eye  from  eye  with  fell  suspicion  turn'd, 
In  kindred  breasts  unnatural  hatred  burn'd ; 
Brother  met  brother  in  the  lists  of  strife, 
The  sou  lay  lurking  for  the  father's  life; 
With  rabid  instinct,  men  who  never  knew 
Each  other's  face  before,  each  other  slew  : 
All  tribes,  all  nations,  learn'd  the  fatal  art, 
And  every  hand  was  arm'd  to  pierce  a  heart. 
Nor  man  alone  the  giants'  might  subdued; 
—  The  camel,  wcan'd  from  quiet  solitude, 
Grazed  round  their  camps,  or  slow  along  the  road, 
Midst  marching  legions  bore  the  servile  load. 
With  flying  forelock  and  dishevell'd  mane, 
They  caught  the  wild  steed  prancing  o'er  the  plain, 
For  war  or  pastime  rein'd  his  fiery  force  ; 
Fleet  as  the  wind  he  stretch'd  along  the  course, 
Or,  loudly  neighing  at  the  trumpet's  sound, 
With  hoofs  of  thunder  smote  the  indented  ground. 
The  enormous  elephant  obey'd  their  will, 
And,  tamed  to  cruelty  with  direst  skill, 
Roar'd  fur  the  battle,  when  he  felt  the  goad, 
And  his  proud  lord  his  sinewy  back  bestrode, 
Through  crashing  ranks  resistless  havoc  bore, 
And  writhed  his  trunk,  and  bathed  his  tusks  in  gore. 

"  Thus  while  the  giants  trampled  friends  and  foes, 
Amongst  their  tribe  a  mighty  chieftain  rose; 
His  birth  mysterious,  but  traditions  tell 
What  strange  events  his  infancy  befell. 

"  A  goatherd  fed  his  flock  on  many  a  steep, 
Where  Eden's  rivers  swell  the  southern  deep ; 
A  melancholy  man,  who  dwelt  alone, 
Yet  far  abroad  his  evil  fame  was  known, 
The  first  of  woman  born,  that  might  presume 
To  wake  the  dead  bones  mouldering  in  the  tomb, 
And  from  the  gulf  of  uncreated  night, 
Call  phantoms  of  futurity  to  light. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VII. 


'Twas     said     his    voice     could     stay    the     fallinj 

flood, 
Eclipse  the  sun,  and  turn  the  moon  to  blood, 
Roll  back  the  planets  on  their  golden  cars, 
And  from  the  firmament  unfix  the  stars  : 
Spirits  of  fire  and  air,  of  sea  and  land, 
Came  at  his  call,  and  flew  at  his  command : 
His  spells  so  potent,  that  his  changing  breath 
Open'd  or  shut  the  gates  of  life  and  death  : 
O'er  Nature's  powers  he  claim'd  supreme  control, 
And  held  communion  with  all  Nature's  soul : 
The  name  and  place  of  every  herb  he  knew, 
Its  healing  balsam,  or  pernicious  dew  : 
The  meanest  reptile,  and  the  noblest  birth 
Of  ocean's  caverns,  or  the  living  earth, 
Obey'd  his  mandate :  — lord  of  all  the  rest, 
Man  more  than  all  bis  hidden  art  confess'd, 
Cringed  to  his  face,  consulted,  and  revered 
His  oracles, —  detested  him  and  fcar'd. 

"  Once  by  the  river,  in  a  waking  dream, 
He  stood  to  watch  the  ever-running  stream, 
In  -which,  reflected  upward  to  his  eyes, 
He  giddily  look'd  down  upon  the  skies  ; 
For  thus  he  feign'd,  in  his  ecstatic  mood, 
To  summon  divination  from  the  flood. 
His  steady  view,  a  floating  object  cross'd; 
His  eye  pursued  it  till  the  sight  was  lost,— 
An  outcast  infant  in  a  fragile  bark  ! 
The  river  whirl'd  the  willow-woven  ark 
Down  tow'rd  the  deep  ;  the  tide  returning  bore 
The  little  voyager  unharm'd  to  shore  : 
Him,  in  bis  cradle-ship  securely  bound 
With  swathing  skins,  at  eve  the  goatherd  found. 
Nurst  by  that  foster-sire,  austere  and  rude, 
Mi. 1st  rocks  and  glens,  in  savage  solitude, 
Among  the  kids,  the  rescued  foundling  grew, 
Nutrition  from  whose  shaggy  dams  he  drew, 
Till  baby-curls  his  broader  temple  crown'd, 
And  torrid  suns  his  flexile  limbs  embrowu'd : 
Then  as  he  sprang  from  green  to  florid  age, 
And  rose  to  giant-stature,  stage  by  stage, 
He  roain'd  the  valleys  with  his  browsing  flock, 
And  leapt  in  joy  of  youth  from  rock  to  rock ; 
Climb'd  the  sharp  precipice's  steepest  breast, 
To  seize  the  eagle  brooding  on  her  nest, 
And  rent  his  way  through  matted  woods,  to  tear 
The  skulking  panther  from  his  hidden  lair. 
A  trodden  serpent,  horrible  and  vast, 
Sprang  on  the  heedless  rover  as  he  pass'd; 


Limb   lock'd   o'er   limb,  with   many  a   straitening 

fold 
Of  orbs  inextricably  involved,  he  roll'd 
On  earth  in  vengeance,  broke  the  twisted  toils, 
Strangled  the  hissing  fiend,  and  wore  the  spoils. 
With  hardy  exercise,  and  cruel  art, 
To  nerve  the  frame,  and  petrify  the  heart, 
The  wizard  train'd  his  pupil,  from  a  span, 
To  thrice  the  bulk  and  majesty  of  man. 
His  limbs  were  sinewy  strength  ;  commanding  grace, 
And  dauntless  spirit,  sparkled  in  his  face : 
His  arm  could  pluck  the  lion  from  his  prey, 
And  hold  the  horn'd  rhinoceros  at  bay ; 
His  feet  o'er  highest  hills  pursue  the  hind, 
Or  tire  the  ostrich  buoyant  on  the  wind. 

"  Yet  'twas  the  stripling's  chief  delight  to  brave 
The  river's  wrath,  and  wrestle  with  the  wave : 
When  torrent  rains  had  swoln  the  furious  tide, 
Light  on  the  foamy  surge  he  loved  to  ride; 
When  calm  and  clear  the  stream  was  wont  to  flow, 
Fearless  he  dived  to  search  the  eaves  below. 
His  childhood's  story,  often  told,  had  wrought 
Sublimest  hopes  in  his  aspiring  thought. 

Once  on  a  cedar,  from  its  mountain-throne 

Pluck'd  by  the  tempest,  forth  he  sail'd  alone, 
And  reaeh'd  the  gulf;  — with  eye  of  eager  fire, 
And  flushing  cheek,  he  watch'd  the  shores  retire, 
Till  sky  and  water  wide  around  were  spread; 
—  Straight  to  the  sun  he  thought  his  voyage  led, 
With  shouts  of  transport  hail'd  its  setting  light, 
And  follow'd  all  the  long  and  lonely  night : 
But,  ere  the  morning-star  expired,  he  found 
His  stranded  bark  once  more  on  earthly  ground. 
Tears,  wrung  from  secret  shame,  suffused  his  eyes, 
When  in  the  east  he  saw  the  sun  arise; 
Pride  quickly  check'd  them— young  ambition  burn'd 
For  bolder  enterprise,  as  he  rcturn'd. 

"Through  snares  and  deaths  pursuing  fame  and 
power, 
He  scorn'd  his  flock  from  that  adventurous  hour, 
An.l,  leagued  with  monsters  of  congenial  birth, 
Began  to  scourge  and  subjugate  the  earth. 
Meanwhile  the  sons  of  Cain,  who  till'd  the  soil, 
By  noble  arts  had  learn'd  to  lighten  toil : 
Wisely  their  scattered  knowledge  he  combined; 
Yet  bail  an  hundred  years  matured  his  mind, 
Ere,  with  the  strength  that  laid  the  forest  low, 
And  skill  that  made  the  iron  furnace  glow, 


Canto  VIII. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


91 


His  genius  launch'd  the  keel,  and  sway'd  the  helm, 

(His  throne  and  sceptre  on  the  watery  realm,) 

While  from  the  tent  of  his  expanded  sail 

He  eves  the  heavens  and  flew  before  the  gale, 

The  first  of  men  whose  courage  knew  to  guide 

The  bounding  vessel  through  the  refluent  tide. 

Then  sware  the  giant,  in  his  pride  of  soul, 

To  range  the  universe  from  pole  to  pole, 

Rule  the  remotest  nations  with  his  nod, 

To  live  a  hero,  and  to  die  a  god. 

"  This  is  the  king  that  wars  in  Eden  :  — ■  now 
Fulfill'd  at  length  he  deems  his  early  vow; 
His  foot  hath  over-run  the  world, — ■  his  hand 
Smitten  to  dust  the  pride  of  every  land : 
The  Patriarchs  last,  beneath  his  impious  rod, 
He  dooms  to  perish  or  abjure  their  God. 
—  0  God  of  truth  !  rebuke  the  tyrant's  rage, 
And  save  the  remnant  of  thy  heritage  !" 

When  Javan  ceased,  they  stood  upon  the  height 
Where  first  he  rested  on  his  lonely  flight, 
Whence  to  the  sacred  mountain  far  away 
The  land  of  Eden  in  perspective  lay. 
'Twas  noon:  —  they  tarried  there,  till  milder  hours 
Woke  with  light  airs  the  breath  of  evening  flowers. 


CANTO    EIGHTH. 

The  Scene  changes  to  a  Mountain,  on  the  Summit  of 
which,  beneath  the  shade  of  ancient  Trees,  the 
Giants  are  assembled  round  their  King.  A  Minstrel 
sings  the  Monarch's  Praises,  and  describes  the 
Destruction  of  the  Remnant  of  the  Force  of  his 
Enemies,  in  an  Assault,  by  Land  and  Water,  on 
their  Encampment,  between  the  Forest  on  the  eastern 
Plain  of  Eden,  and  the  Rirer  to  the  West.  The 
Captive  Patriarchs  are  presented  before  the  King 
and  hie  Chieftains. 

"  There  is  a  living  spirit  in  the  Lyre, 
A  breath  of  music  and  a  soul  of  fire ; 
It  speaks  a  language  to  the  world  unknown  ; 
It  speaks  that  language  to  the  Bard  alone  : 
While  warbled  symphonies  entrance  his  ears, 
That  spirit's  voice  in  every  tone  he  hears  ; 
'Tis  his  the  mystic  meaning  to  rehearse, 
To  utter  oracles  in  glowing  verse, 


Heroic  themes  from  age  to  age  prolong, 

And  make  the  dead  in  nature  live  in  song. 

Though  graven  rocks  the  warrior's  deeds  proclaim, 

And  mountains,  hewn  to  statues,  wear  his  name  ; 

Though,  shrined  in  adamant,  his  relics  lie 

Beneath  a  pyramid,  that  scales  the  sky  ; 

All  that  the  hand  hath  fashion'd  shall  decay; 

All  that  the  eye  admires  shall  pass  away  ; 

The  mouldering  rocks,  the  hero's  hope,  shall  fail, 

Earthquakes  shall  heave  the  mountains  to  the  vale, 

The  shrine  of  adamant  betray  its  trust, 

And  the  proud  pyramid  resolve  to  dust : 

The  Lyre  alone  immortal  fame  secures, 

For  song  alone  through  Nature's  change  endures ; — • 

Transfused  like  life,  from  breast  to  breast  it  glows, 

From  sire  to  son  by  sure  succession  flows, 

Speeds  its  unceasing  flight  from  clime  to  clime, 

Outstripping  Death  upon  the  wings  of  Time. 

"  Soul  of  the  Lyre  !  whose  magic  power  can  raise 
Inspiring  visions  of  departed  days  ;  — 
Or,  with  the  glimpses  of  mysterious  rhyme, 
Dawn  on  the  dreams  of  unawaken'd  Time  ; 
Soul  of  the  Lyre !  instruct  thy  bard  to  sing 
The  latest  triumph  of  the  Giant-king, 
Who  sees  this  day  his  orb  of  glory  fill'd : 
—  In  what  creative  numbers  shall  I  build, 
With  what  exalted  strains  of  music  crown, 
His  everlasting  pillar  of  renown  ? 
Though,  like  the  rainbow,  by  a  wondrous  birth, 
He  sprang  to  light,  the  joy  of  heaven  and  earth ; 
Though,  like  the  rainbow,  —  for  he  cannot  die, — 
His  form  shall  pass  unseen  into  the  sky ; 
Say,  shall  the  hero  share  the  coward's  lot, 
Vanish  from  earth,  ingloriously  forgot? 
No !  the  divinity  that  rules  the  Lyre, 
And  clothes  these  lips  with  eloquence  of  fire, 
Commands  the  song  to  rise  in  quenchless  flame, 
And  light  the  world  for  ever  with  his  fame." 

Thus  on  the  mountain's  venerable  head, 
Where  trees,  coeval  with  creation,  spread 
Their  massy-twisted  branches,  green  and  grey, 
Mature  below,  their  tops  in  dry  decay, 
A  bard  of  Jubal's  lineage  proudly  sung, 
Then  stay'd  awhile  the  raptures  of  his  tongue  : 
A  shout  of  horrible  applause,  that  rent 
The  echoing  hills  and  answering  firmament, 
Burst  from  the  Giants, —  where  in  barbarous  state, 
Flush'd  with  new  wine,  around  their  king  they  sate  : 


92 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VIII. 


A  chieftain  each,  who,  on  his  brazen  car, 
Had  led  a  host  of  meaner  men  to  war ; 
And  now  from  recent  fight  on  Eden's  plain, 
Where  fell  their  foes,  in  helpless  conflict  slain, 
Victoriously  return'd,  beneath  the  trees 
They  rest  from  toil,  carousing  at  their  ease. 

Adjacent,  where  the  mountain's  spacious  breast 
Open'd  in  airy  grandeur  to  the  west, 
Huge  piles  of  fragrant  cedars,  on  the  ground, 
As  altars  blazed,  while  victims  bled  around, 
To  gods,  whose  worship  vanish'd  with  the  Flood, 
—  Divinities  of  brass,  and  stone,  and  wood, 
By  man  himself  in  his  own  image  made; 
The  fond  creator  to  the  creature  play'd  ! 
And  he,  who  from  the  forest  or  the  rock 
Hew'd  the  rough  mass,  adored  the  shapen  block! 
Then  scem'd  his  flocks  ignoble  in  his  eyes, 
His  choicest  herds  too  mean  for  sacrifice, 
He  pour'd  his  brethren's  blood  upon  the  pyre, 
And  pass'd  his  sons  to  demons  through  the  fire. 

Exalted  o'er  the  vassal  chiefs,  behold 
Their  sovereign,  cast  in  Nature's  mightiest  mould; 
Beneath  an  oak,  whose  woven  boughs  display'd 
A  verdant  canopy  of  light  and  shade, 
Throned  on  a  rock  the  Giant-king  appears, 
In  the  full  manhood  of  five  hundred  years. 
His  robe,  the  spoils  of  lions,  by  his  might 
Dragg'd  from  their  dens,  or  slain  in  chase  or  fight : 
His  raven  locks,  unblanch'd  by  withering  Time, 
Amply  disbevell'd  o'er  his  brow  sublime; 
His  dark  eyes,  flush'd  with  restless  radiance,  gleam 
Like  broken  moonlight  rippling  on  the  stream. 
Grandeur  of  soul,  which  nothing  might  appal, 
And  nothing  satisfy  if  less  than  all, 
Had  stamp'd  upon  his  air,  his  form,  his  face, 
The  character  of  calm  and  awful  grace; 
Bui  direst  cruelty,  by  guile  represt, 
Lurk'd  in  the  dark  volcano  of  his  breast, 
In  silence  brooding,  like  the  secret  power 
That  springs  the  earthquake  at  the  midnight  hour. 

From  Eden's  summit,  with  obdurate  pride, 
Red  from  afar,  the  battle-scene  he  eyed, 
Where  late  lie  crush'd,  with  one  remorseless  blow, 
The  remnant  of  his  last  and  noblest  foe; 
At  hand  he  view'd  the  trophies  of  his  toils, 
Herds,    flocks,    and    steeds,    the   world's    collected 
spoils ; 


Below,  his  legions  mareh'd  in  war  array, 
Unstain'd  with  blood  in  that  unequal  fray : 

—  An  hundred  tribes,  whose  sons  their  arms  had 

borne 
Without  contention,  from  the  field  at  morn, 
Their  bands  dividing,  when  the  fight  was  won, 
Darken'd  the  region  tow'rds  the  slanting  sun, 
Like  clouds,  whose  shadows  o'er  the  landscape  sail, 

—  While   to   their   camp,  that   fill'd    the   northern 

vale, 
A  waving  sea  of  tents,  immensely  spread, 
The  trumpet  summon'd,  and  the  banners  led. 
With  these  a  train  of  captives,  sad  and  slow, 
Moved  to  a  death  of  shame,  or  life  of  woe, 
A  death  on  altars  hateful  to  the  skies, 
Or  life  in  chains,  a  slower  sacrifice. 
Fair  smiled  the  face  of  Nature  ;  —  all  serene 
And  lovely,  Evening  tranquillised  the  scene; 
The  furies  of  the  fight  were  gone  to  rest, 
The  cloudless  sun  grew  broader  down  the  west, 
The  hills  beneath  him  melted  from  the  sight, 
Receding  through  the  heaven  of  purple  light; 
Along  the  plain  the  maze  of  rivers  roll'd, 
And  verdant  shadows  gleam'd  in  waves  of  gold. 

Thus  while  the  tyrant  cast  his  haughty  eye 
O'er  the  broad  landscape  and  incumbent  sky, 
His  heart  exulting  whisper'd  —  "All  is  mine," 
And  heard  a  voice  from  all  things  answer  "Thine." 
Such  was  the  matchless  chief,  whose  name  of  yore 
Fill'd    the    wide  world;  —  his   name   is   known  no 

more  : 
0  that  for  ever  from  the  rolls  of  fame, 
Like  bis,  had  perish'd  every  conqueror's  name! 
Then  had  mankind  been  spared,  in  after-times. 
Their  greatest  sufferings  and  their  greatest  crimes. 
The  hero  scourges  not  his  age  alone, 
His  curse  to  late  posterity  is  known  : 
He  slays  his  thousands  with  his  living  breath, 
His  tens  of  thousands  by  his  fame  in  death. 
Achilles  quench'd  not  all  his  wrath  on  Greece, 
Through  Homer's  song  its  miseries  never  cease: 
Like  Phoebus'  shafts,  the  bright  contagion  brings 
Plagues  on  the  people  for  the  feuds  of  kings. 
'Twas  not  in  vain  the  son  of  Philip  sigh'd 
For  worlds  to  conquer,  —  o'er  the  western  tide, 
His  spirit,  in  the  Spaniard's  Conn,  o'erthrew 
Realms,  that  the  Macedonian  never  knew. 
The  steel  of  Brutus  struck  not  Ca-sar  dead  ; 
Ca:sar  in  other  lands  hath  rear'd  his  head, 


Canto  VIII. 


THE  WOULD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Arid  fought,  of  friends  and  foes,  on  many  a  plain, 
His  millions,  captured,  fugitive,  and  slain; 
Yet  seldom  suffer'd,  where  his  country  died, 
A  Roman  vengeance  for  his  parricide. 

The  sun  was  sunk;  the  sacrificial  pyres 
From  smouldering   ashes   breathed  their  last  blue 

fires, 
The  smiling  star,  that  lights  the  world  to  rest, 
Walk'd  in  the  rosy  gardens  of  the  west, 
Like  Eve  erewhile  through  Eden's  blooming  bowers, 
A  lovelier  star  amidst  a  heaven  of  flowers. 
Now  in  the  freshness  of  the  falling  shade, 
Again  the  minstrel  to  the  monarch  play'd. 
— "Where  is  the  youth  renown'd? — the  youth  whose 

voice 
Was  wont  to  make  the  listening  camp  rejoice, 
When  to  his  harp,  in  many  a  peerless  strain, 
He  sang  the  wonders  of  the  Giant's  reign : 
0  where  is  Javan?" — Thus  the  bard  renew'd 
His  lay,  and  with  a  rival's  transport  view'd 
The  cloud  of  sudden  anger,  that  o'ercame 
The  tyrant's  countenance,  at  Javan's  name; 
Javan,  whose  song  was  once  his  soul's  delight, 
Now  doom'd  a  traitor  recreant  by  his  flight. 
The  envious  minstrel  smiled ;  then  boldly  ran 
His  prelude  o'er  the  chords,  and  thus  began  :  — 

'"T  was  on  the  morn  that  faithless  Javan  fled, 
To  yonder  plain  the  king  of  nations  led 
His  countless  hosts,  and  stretch'd  their  wide  array 
Along  the  woods,  within  whose  shelter  lay 
The  sons  of  Eden  :  '  —  these,  with  secret  pride, 
In  ambush  thus  the  Invincible  defied : 
— 'Girt  with  the  forest  wherefore  should  we  fear? 
The  Giant's  sword  shall  never  reach  us  here  : 
Behind,  the  river  rolls  its  deep  defence ; 
The  Giant's  hand  shall  never  pluck  us  hence.' 
Vain  boast  of  fools  !  who  to  that  hand  prepare 
For  their  own  lives  the  inevitable  snare : 
His  legions  smote  the  standards  of  the  wood, 
And  with  their  prostrate  strength  controll'd  the  flood  ; 
Lopt  off  their  boughs,  and  jointed  beam  to  beam, 
The  pines  and  oaks  were  launch'd  upon  the  stream, 
An  hundred  rafts. — Yet  still  within  a  zone 
Of  tangled  coppices, — -a  waste,  o'ergrown 
With  briars  and  thorns, —  the  dauntless  victims  lie, 
Scorn  to  surrender,  and  prepare  to  die. 

1  Vide  Canto  I.  p.  C7,  and  Canto  III.  p.  7i. 


The  second  sun  went  down ;  the  monarch's  plan 
Was  perfected  :  the  dire  assault  began. 

"Marshall'd  by  twilight,  his  obedient  bands 
Engirt  the  wood,  with  torches  in  their  hands ; 
The   signal   given,  they  shoot   them   through   the 

air  ; 
The  blazing  brands  in  rapid  volleys  glare, 
Descending  through  the  gloom  with  spaugled  light, 
As  if  the  stars  were  falling  through  the  night. 
Along  the  wither'd  grass  the  wild-fire  flew, 
Higher  and  hotter  with  obstruction  grew ; 
The  green  wood   hiss'd ;    from    crackling    thickets 

broke 
Light-glancing  flame,  and  heavy-rolling  smoke ; 
Till  all  the  breadth  of  forest  seem'd  to  rise 
In. raging  conflagration  to  the  skies. 
Fresh  o'er  our  heads  the  winds  propitious  blow, 
But  roll  the  fierce  combustion  on  the  foe. 
Awhile  they  paused,  of  every  hope  bereft, 
Choice  of  destruction  all  their  refuge  left : 
If  from  the  flames  they  fled,  behind  them  lay 
The  river,  roaring  to  receive  his  prey; 
If    through   the    stream   they   sought   the   farther 

strand, 
Our  rafts  were  moor'd  to  meet  them  ere  they  land : 
With  triple  death  environ'd  thus  they  stood, 
Till  nearer  peril  drove  them  to  the  flood. 
Safe  on  a  hill,  where  sweetest  moonlight  slept, 
As  o'er  the  changing  scene  my  watch  I  kept, 
I  heard  their  shrieks  of  agony;  I  hear 
Those  shrieks  still  ring  in  my  tormented  ear; 
I  saw  them  leap  the  gulf  with  headlong  fright; 
0  that  mine  eyes  could  now  forget  that  sight ! 
They  sank  in  multitude ;  but,  prompt  to  save, 
Our  warriors  snatch'd  the  stragglers  from  the  wave, 
And  on  their  rafts  a  noble  harvest  bore 
Of  rescued  heroes,  captive,  to  the  shore. 

"One  little  troop  their  lessening  ground   main- 
tain'd 
Till  space  to  perish  in  alone  remain'd; 
Then  with  a  shout  that  rent  the  echoing  air, 
More  like  the  shout  of  victory  than  despair, 
Wedged  in  a  solid  phalanx,  man  by  man, 
Right  through  the  scorching  wilderness  they  ran, 
Where  half  extinct  the  smouldering  fuel  glow'd, 
And  levell'd  copses  strew'd  the  open  road. 
Unharm'd  as  spirits  while  they  seem'd  to  pass, 
Their  lighted  features  flared  like  molten  brass; 


94 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  VIII. 


Around  the  flames  in  writhing  volumes  spread, 
Thwarted  their  path,  or  mingled  o'er  their  head; 
Beneath  their  feet  the  fires  to  ashes  turn'd, 
But  in  their  wake  with  mounting  fury  burn'd. 
Our  host  recoil'd  from  that  amazing  sight; 
Scarcely  the  king  himself  restrain'd  their  flight; 
He,  with  his  chiefs,  in  brazen  armour,  stood 
Unmoved,  to  meet  the  maniacs  from  the  wood. 
Dark  as  a  thunder-cloud  their  phalanx  came, 
But  split  like  lightning  into  forms  of  flame ; 
Soon  as  in  purer  air  their  heads  they  raised 
To  taste  the  breath  of  heaven,  their  garments  blazed; 
Then  blind,  distracted,  weaponless,  yet  flush'd 
With  dreadful  valour,  on  their  foes  they  rush'd ; 
The  Giants  met  them  midway  on  the  plain; 
'T  was  but  the  struggle  of  a  moment;  —  slain, 
They  fell ;  their  relics,  to  the  flames  retum'd, 
As  offerings  to  the  immortal  gods  were  burn'd ; 
And  never  did  the  light  of  morning  rise 
Upon  the  clouds  of  such  a  sacrifice." 

Abruptly  here  the  minstrel  censed  to  sing, 
And  every  face  was  turn'd  upon  the  king; 
He,  while  the  stoutest  hearts  recoil'd  with  fear, 
And  Giants  trembled  their  own  deeds  to  hear, 
Unmoved  and  unrelenting,  in  his  mind 
Deeds  of  more  impious  enterprise  design'd: 
A  dire  conception  labour'd  in  his  breast; 
His  eye  was^sternly  pointed  to  the  west, 
Where  stood  the  mount  of  Paradise  sublime, 
Whose  guarded  top,  since  man's  presumptuous  crime, 
By  noon  a  dusky  cloud  appear'd  to  rise, 
But  blazed  a  beacon  through  nocturnal  skies. 
As  iEtna,  view'd  from  ocean  far  away, 
Slumbers  in  blue  revolving  smoke  by  day, 
Till  darkness,  with  terrific  splendour,  shows 
The  eternal  fires  that  crest  the  eternal  snows ; ' 
So  where  the  cherubim  in  vision  turn'd 
Their  flaming  swords,  the  summit  lower'd  or  burn'd. 
And  now  conspicuous  through  the  twilight  gloom. 
The  dancing  beams  the  distant  hills  illume, 
And,  as  the  shadows  deepen  o'er  the  ground, 
Scatter  a  red  and  wavering  lustre  round. 

Awhile  the  monarch,  fearlessly  amazed, 
With  jealous  anger  on  the  glory  gazed  : 

'  "  Sorge  nel  sen  ue  la  Sicilia  apnea 
Monte  superho  :il  eieln. 
Che  u'  atro  incemlio  incoronato  ha  il  crine; 
Sparso  il  tergo  e  di  neve,  e  fatta  arnica 


Already  had  his  arm  in  battle  hurl'd 
His  thunders  round  the  subjugated  world; 
Lord  of  the  nether  universe,  his  pride 
Was  rcin'd,  while  Paradise  his  power  defied. 
An  upland  isle  by  meeting  streams  embraced, 
It  tower'd  to  Heaven  amidst  a  sandy  waste; 
Below,  impenetrable  woods  display'd 
Depths  of  mysterious  solitude  and  shade; 
Above,  with  adamantine  bulwarks  crown'd, 
Primeval  rocks  in  hoary  masses  frown'd; 
O'er  all  were  seen  the  cherubim  of  light, 
Like  pillar'd  flames  amidst  the  falling  night; 
So  high  it  rose,  so  bright  the  mountain  shone, 
It  seem'd  the  footstool  of  Jehovah's  throne. 

The  Giant  panted  with  intense  desire 
To   scale  those  heights,  and   storm   the  walls   of 

fire: 
His  ardent  soul,  in  ecstasy  of  thought, 
Even  now  with  Michael  and  his  angels  fought, 
And  saw  the  seraphim,  like  meteors  driven 
Before  his  banners  through  the  gates  of  Heaveo, 
While  he,  secure,  the  glorious  garden  trod, 
And  sway'd  his  sceptre  from  the  mount  of  God. 

When  suddenly  the  bard  had  ceased  to  sing, 
While  all  the  chieftains  gazed  upon  their  king, 
Whose  changing  looks  a  rising  storm  bespoke, 
Ere  from  his  lips  the  dread  explosion  broke, 
The  trumpets  sounded,  and  before  his  face 
Were  led  the  captives  of  the  Patriarchs'  race : 

A  lovely  and  a  venerable  band 

Of  young  and  old,  amidst  their  foes  they  stand; 

Unawed  they  see  the  fiery  trial  near; 

They  fear'd  their  God,  and  knew  no  other  fear.5 

To  light  the  dusky  scene,  resplendent  fires, 
Of  pine  and  cedar,  blazed  in  lofty  pyres ; 
While  from  the  east  the  moon  with  doubtful  gleams 
Now  tipt  the  hills,  now  glanced  athwart  the  streams, 
Till,  darting  through  the  clouds  her  beauteous  eye, 
She  open'd  all  the  temple  of  the  sky ; 
The  Giants,  closing  in  a  narrower  ring, 
By  turns  survey'd  the  prisoners  and  the  king. 
Javan  stood  forth ;  —  to  all  the  youth  was  known, 
And  every  eye  was  fix'd  on  him  alone. 


Lamlie  la  flamma  il  gielo, 

E  tra  discreti  ardor  duran  le  brine."  F.  Testi. 

a  "Je  crains  Dieu,  cher  Abner,  et  n'ai  point  d'autre  crainte." 

Kacine. 


Canto  IX. 


THE  WOULD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


95 


CANTO    NINTH. 

The  King's  Determination  to  sacrifice  the  Patriarchs 
and  their  Families  to  his  Demon-Gods.  His  Sen- 
tence on  Javan.  Zillah's  Distress.  The  Sorcerer 
pretends  to  declare  the  Secret  of  the  Birth  of  the 
King,  and  proposes  his  Deification.    Enoch  appears. 

A  gleam  of  joy,  at  that  expected  sight, 

Shot  o'er  the  monarch's  brow  with  baleful  light: 

"Behold,"  thought  he,  "the  great  decisive  hour; 

Ere  morn,  these  sons  of  God  shall  prove  my  power : 

Offer'd  by  me  their  blood  shall  be  the  price 

Of  deraon-aid  to  conquer  Paradise." 

Thus  while  he  threaten'd,  Javan  caught  his  view, 

And  instantly  his  visage  changed  its  hue; 

Inflamed  with  rage  past  utterance,  he  frown'd, 

He  gnash'd  his  teeth,  and  wildly  glared  around, 

As  one  who  saw  a  spectre  in  the  air, 

And  durst  not  look  upon  it,  nor  forbear  ; 

Still  on  the  youth,  his  eye,  wherever  cast, 

Abhorrently  rcturn'd,  and  fix'd  at  last: 

"Slaves  !  smite  the  traitor;  be  his  limbs  consign'd 

To  flames,  his  ashes  scatter'd  to  the  wind  !" 

He  cried  in  tones  so  vehement,  so  loud, 

Instinctively  recoil'd  the  shuddering  crowd; 

And  ere  the  guards  to  seize  their  victim  rush'd, 

The     youth    was     pleading,  —  every    breath    was 

hush'd : 
Pale,  but  undauntedly,  he  faced  his  foes  ; 
Warm  as  he  spoke  his  kindling  spirit  rose; 
Well  pleased,  ou  him  the  Patriarch-fathers  smiled, 
And  every  mother  loved  him  as  her  child. 

"  Monarch  !  to  thee  no  traitor,  here  I  stand  ; 
These  are  my  brethren,  this  my  native  land; 
My  native  land,  by  sword  and  fire  consumed, 
My  brethren  captive,  and  to  death  foredooin'd; 
To  these  indeed  a  rebel  in  my  youth, 
A  fugitive  apostate  from  the  truth, 
Too  late  repentant,  I  confess  my  crime, 
And  mourn  o'er  lost  irrevocable  time. 
— When  from    thy   camp   by  conscience   urged   to 

flee, 
I  plann'd  no  wrong,  I  laid  no  snare  for  thee : 
Did  I  provoke  these  sons  of  innocence, 
Against  thine  arms,  to  rise  in  vain  defence  ? 
No ;  I  conjured  them,  ere  this  threaten'd  hour, 
In  sheltering  forests  to  escape  thy  power  : 


Firm  in  their  rectitude,  they  scorn'd  to  fly; 
Thy  foes  they  were  not, —  they  resolv'd  to  die. 
Vet  think  not  thou,  amidst  thy  warlike  bands, 
They  lie  beyond  redemption  in  thine  hands  : 
The  God  in  whom  they  trust  may  help  them  still, 
They  know  He  can  deliver,  and  HE  WILL  ! 
Whether  by  life  or  death,  afflicts  them  not, 
On  His  decree,  not  thine,  they  rest  their  lot. 
For  me,  unworthy  with  the  just  to  share 
Death  or  deliverance,  this  is  Javan's  prayer; 
Mercy,  0  God  !  to  these  in  life  be  shown ; 
I  die  rejoicing,  if  I  die  alone." 

"  Thou  shalt  not  die  alone,"  a  voice  replied, 
A  well-known  voice — 'twas  Zillah  at  his  side; 
She,  while  he  spake,  with  eagerness  to  hear, 
Step  after  step,  unconsciously  drew  near ; 
Her  bosom  with  severe  compunction  wrung, 
Pleased  or  alarm'd,  on  every  word  she  hung. 
He  turn'd  his  face;  —  with  agonising  air, 
In  all  the  desolation  of  despair, 
She  stood;  her  hands  to  heaven  uplift  and  clasp'd, 
Then  suddenly  unloos'd,  his  arm  she  grasp'd, 
And  thus,  in  wild  apostrophes  of  woe, 
Vented  her  grief  while  tears  refused  to  flow. 

"  Oh,  I  have  wrong'd  thee,  Javan  !  —  Let  us  be 
Espoused  in  death  :  —  No,  I  will  die  for  thee. 

—  Tyrant!  behold  thy  victim;  on  my  head 
Be  all  the  bitterness  of  vengeance  shed, 
But  spare  the  innocent;  let  Javan  live, 
Whose  crime  was  love  :  —  Can  Javan  too  forgive 
Love's  lightest,  fondest  weakness,  maiden-shame, 

—  It  was  not  pride, —  that  hid  my  bosom  flame? 
And    wilt    tbou    mourn    the    poor    transgressor's 

death, 
Who  says,  '  I  love  thee,'  with  her  latest  breath  ? 
And  when  thou  think'st  of  days  and  years  gone  by, 
Will  thoughts  of  Zillah  sometimes  swell  thine  eye? 
If  ever  thou  hast  cherish'd  in  thine  heart 
Visions  of  hope  in  which  I  bore  a  part; 
If  ever  thou  hast  long'd  with  me  to  share 
One  home-born  joy,  one  honie-endearing  care  ; 
If  thou  didst  ever  love  me;  —  speak  the  word, 
Which  late  with  feign'd  indifferency  I  heard ; 
Tell  me,  thou  lovest  me  still;  —  haste,  Javan  !  mark 
How  high  those  ruffians  pile  the  faggots, —  hark, 
How   the   flames    crackle, —  see,   how   fierce    they 

glare, 
Like  fiery  serpents  hissing  through  the  air;  — 


96 


THE  WOULD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  IX. 


Farewell !  I  fear  them  not.— Now  seize  me,  bind 
These  willing  limbs, — ye  cannot  touch  the  mind; 
Unawed,  I  stand  on  Nature's  failing  brink  : 
—  Nay,  look  not  on  me,  Javan  !  lest  I  shrink; 
Give  me  thy  prayers,  but  turn  away  thine  eye, 
That  I  may  lift  my  soul  to  Heaven,  and  die !" 

Thus  Zillah  raved  in  passionate  distress, 
Till  frenzy  soften'd  into  tenderness; 
Sorrow  and  love,  with  intermingling  grace, 
Terror  and  beauty,  lighten'd  o'er  her  face; 
Her  voice,  her  eye,  in  every  soul  was  felt, 
And  Giant-hearts  were  moved,  unwont  to  melt. 
Javan,  in  wonder,  pity,  and  delight, 
Almost  forgot  his  being  at  the  sight; 
That  bending  form,  those  suppliant  accents,  seem 
The  strange  illusions  of  a  lover's  dream ; 
And  while  she  clung  upon  his  arm,  he  found 
His  limbs,  bis  lips,  as  by  enchantment,  bound : 
He   dare    not   touch   her,   lest   the   charm   should 

break ; 
He  dare  not  move,  lest  he  himself  should  wake. 

But  when  she  ceased  to  speak,  and  he  to  hear, 
The  silence  startled  him  ;—  cold,  shivering  fear 
Crept  o'er  his  nerves;  — in  thought  he  cast  his  eye 
Back  on  the  world,  and  heaved  a  bitter  sigh, 
Thus  from  life's  sweetest  pleasures  to  be  torn, 
Just  when  he  seem'd  to  new  existence  born  ; 
And  cease  to  feel,  when  feeling  ceased  to  be 
A  fever  of  protracted  misery ; 
And  cease  to  love,  when  love  no  more  was  pain  ! 
'Twas  but  a  pang  of  transient  weakness  :— "Vain 
Arc  all  thy  sorrows,"  falteringly  he  said; 
"  Already  I  am  number' d  with  the  dead  ; 
But  long  and  blissfully  may  Zillah  live  ! 
—  And  canst  thou  '  Javan's  cruel  scorn'  forgive? 
And  wilt  thou  mourn  the  poor  transgressor's  death 
Who  says,  'I  love  thee,'  with  his  latest  breath? 
And  when  thou  think'st  of  days  and  years  gone  by, 
Will    thoughts    of   Javan    sometimes   swell  thine 

eye? 
Ah !  while  I  witber'd  in  thy  chilling  frown, 
'Twas  easy  then  to  lay  life's  burden  down : 
When  singly  sentenced  to  these  flames,  my  mind 
Gloried  in  leaving  all  I  loved  behind  : 
How  hast  thou  triumph'd  o'er  me  in  this  hour! 
One  look  hath  crush'd  my  soul's  collected  power; 
Thy  scorn  I  might  endure,  thy  pride  defy, 
But  0  !  thy  kindness  makes  it  hard  to  die  !" 


"  Then  we  will  die  together."—"  Zillah  !  no, 
Thou  shalt  not  perish ;  let  me,  let  me  go ; 
Behold  thy  parents  !  calm  thy  father's  fears  : 
Thy  mother  weeps;  canst  thou  resist  her  tears?" 

"  Away  with  folly  !"  in  tremendous  tone, 
Exelaim'd  a  voice,  more  horrid  than  the  groan 
Of  famish'd  tiger  leaping  on  his  prey; 

Crouch'd  at  the  monarch's  feet  the  speaker  lay; 

But,  starting  up,  in  his  ferocious  mien 

That  monarch's  ancient  foster-sire  was  seen, 

The  goatherd,— he  who  snateh'd  him  from  the  flood, 

The  sorcerer,  who  nursed  him  up  to  blood  : 

Who,  still  his  evil  genius,  fully  bent 

On  one  bold  purpose,  went  where'er  he  went; 

That  purpose,  long  in  his  own  bosom  seal'd, 

Ripe  for  fulfilment  now,  he  thus  revcal'd. 

Full  in  the  midst  he  rush'd  ;  alarm'd,  aghast, 

Giants  and  captives  trembled  as  he  pass'd, 

For  scarcely  seem'd  he  of  the  sons  of  earth ; 

Unchronicled  the  hour  that  gave  him  birth  ; 

Though   shrunk    his    cheek,   his    temples    deeply 

plough'd, 
Keen  was  his  vulture-eye,  his  strength  unbow'd ; 
Swarthy  his  features ;  venerably  grey, 
His  beard  dishevell'd  o'er  his  bosom  lay  : 
Bald  was  his  front;  but,  white  as  snow  behind. 
His  ample  locks  were  seattcr'd  to  the  wind : 
Naked  he  stood,  save  round  his  loins  a  zone 
Of  shagged  fur,  and  o'er  his  shoulders  thrown 
A  serpent's  skin,  that  cross'd  his  breast,  and  round 
His  body  thrice  in  glittering  volumes  wound. 

All  gazed  with  horror— deep  unutter'd  thought 
In  every  muscle  of  his  visage  wrought ; 
His  eye,  as  if  his  eye  could  see  the  air, 
Was  fix'd:  up-writhing  rose  his  horrent  hair; 
His  limbs  grew  dislocate,  convulsed  his  frame ; 
Deep  from  his  chest  mysterious  noises  came  ; 
Now  purring,  hissing,  barking,  then  they  swell'd 
To  hideous  dissonance  ;  he  shriek'd,  he  yell'd, 
As  if  the  Legion-fiend  his  soul  possess'd, 
And  a  whole  hell  were  worrying  in  his  breast  ; 
Then  down  he  dash'd  himself  on  earth,  and  roll'd 
In  agony,  till  powerless,  stiff,  and  cold, 
With   face    upturn'd    to   Heaven,   and   arms   out- 
spread, 
A  ghastly  spectacle,  he  lay  as  dead; 
The  living  too  stood  round  like  forms  of  death, 
And  every  pulse  was  hush'd,  and  every  breath. 


Canto  IX. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


93 


Meanwhile   the    wind    arose,   the    clouds    were 
driven 
In  watery  masses  through  the  waste  of  Heaven; 
The  groaning  woods  foretold  a  tempest  nigh, 
And  silent  lightning  skirmish'd  in  tho  sky. 

Ere  long  the  wizard  started  from  the  ground, 
Giddily  reel'd,  and  look'd  bewildered  round, 
Till  on  the  king  he  fix'd  his  hideous  gaze, 
Then,  rapt  with  ecstasy,  and  broad  amaze, 
He  kneel'd  in  adoration,  humbly  bow'd 
His  face  upon  his  hands,  and  cried  aloud; 
Yet  so  remote  and  strange  the  accents  fell, 
They  seem'd  the  voice  of  an  invisible : 
— "Hail !  king  and  conqueror  of  the  peopled  earth, 
And   more  than  king  and  conqueror !     Know  thy 

birth  : 
Thou  art  a  ray  of  uncreated  fire, 
The  sun  himself  is  thy  celestial  sire 
The  moon  thy  mother,  who  to  me  consign'd 
Her  babe  in  secrecy,  to  bless  mankind. 
These    eyes    have    watch'd    thee    rising,    year   by 

year, 
More  great,  more  glorious,  in  thine  high  career: 
As  the  young  eagle  plies  his  growing  wings 
In  bounded  nights,  and  sails  in  wider  rings, 
Till  to  the  fountain  of  meridian  day, 
Full-plumed  and  perfected,  he  soars  away ; 
Thus  have  I  mark'd  thee,  since  thy  course  begun, 
Still  upward  tending  to  thy  sire  the  sun  :  — 
Now  midway  meet  him  !  from  yon  flaming  height, 
Chase  the  vain  phantoms  of  cherubic  light; 
There  build  a  tower,  whose  spiral  top  shall  rise, 
Circle  o'er  circle  lessening  to  the  skies : 
The  stars,  thy  brethren,  in  their  spheres  shall  stand 
To  hail  thee  welcome  to  thy  native  land ; 
The  moon  shall  clasp  thee  in  her  glad  embrace, 
The  sun  behold  his  image  in  thy  face, 
And  call  thee,  as  his  offspring  and  his  heir, 
His  throne,  his  empire,  and  his  orb  to  share." 

Rising,  and  turning  his  terrific  head, 
That  chill'd  beholders,  thus  the  enchanter  said : 
— "Prepare,  prepare  the  piles  of  sacrifice  ! 
The    power   that  rules    on    earth,   shall   rule   the 

skies ; 
Hither,  0  chiefs !  the  captive  Patriarchs  bring, 
And  pour  their  blood  an  offering  to  your  king; 
He,  like  his  sire  the  sun,  in  transient  clouds 
His  veil'd  divinity  from  mortals  shrouds, 

7 


Too  pure  to  shine  till  these  his  foes  are  slain, 
And  conquer'd  Paradise  hath  crown'd  his  reign. 
Haste!  heap  the  fallen  cedars  on  the  pyres, 
And  give  the  victims  living  to  the  I. 
Shall  He,  in  whom  they  vainly  trust,  withstand 
Your  sovereign's  wrath,  or  pluck    them   from   his 

hand  ? 
We  dare  Him;  —  if  Ho  saves  His  servants  now, 
To  Ilini  let  every  knee  in  Nature  bow, 

For  HE  is  GOD" at  that  most  awful  name, 

A  spasm  of  horror  wither'd  up  his  frame, 

Even    as    he    stood    and    look'd;  —  he    looks,    he 

stands, 
With  heaven-defying  front,  and  clenched  hands, 
And  lips  half-open'd,  eager  from  his  breast 
To  bolt  the  blasphemy,  by  force  represt : 
For  not  in  feign'd  abstraction,  as  before, 
He  practised  foul  deceit  by  damned  lure  ; 
A  frost  was  on  his  nerves,  and  in  his  veins 
A  fire,  consuming  with  infernal  pains  ; 
Conscious,  though  motionless,  his  limbs  were  grown; 
Alive  to  suffering,  but  alive  in  stone. 

In  silent  expectation,  sore  amazed, 
The  king  and  chieftains  on  the  sorcerer  gazed ; 
Awhile   no   sound   was    heard,    save,  through    the 

woods, 
The  wind  deep-thundering,  and  the  dashing  floods  : 
At  length,  with  solemn  step,  amidst  the  scene 
Where  that  false  prophet  show'd  his  frantic  mien, 
Where  lurid  flames  from  green-wood  altars  burn'd, 
Enoch  stood  forth  !  —  on  him  all  eyes  were  turu'd  : 
O'er  his  dim  form  and  saintly  visage  Ml 
The  light  that  glared  upon  that  priest  of  hell : 
Unutterably  awful  was  his  look; 
Through  every  joint  the  Giant-monarch  shook; 
Shook  like  Celshazzar,  in  his  festive  hall, 
When  the  hand  wrote  his  judgment  on  the  wall  j1 
Shook,  like  Eliphaz,  with  dissolving  fright,' 
In  thoughts  amidst  the  visions  of  the  night, 
When,  as  the  spirit  pass'd  before  his  face, 
Nor  limb  nor  lineament  his  eye  could  trace, 
A  form  of  mystery,  that  chill'd  his  blood, 
Close  at  his  couch  in  living  terror  stood, 
And  death-like  silence,  till  a  voice  more  drear, 

More  dreadful,  than  the  silence,  reach'd  his  ear: 

Thus  from  surrounding  darkness  Enoch  brake, 
And  thus  the  Giant  trembled  while  he  spake. 


Dun.  v.  1—31. 


'■  Job,  iv.  12—21. 


98 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  X. 


CANTO   TENTH. 

The  Projihecy  of  Enoch  concerning  the  Sorcerer,  the 
King,  and  the  Flood.  His  Translation  to  Hea- 
ven.     The  Conclusion. 

"The  Lord  is  jealous: — -He,  who  reigns  on  high, 
Upholds  the  earth,  and  spreads  abroad  the  sky ; 
His  voice  the  moon  and  stars  by  night  obey, 
He  sends  the  sun  his  servant  forth  by  day : 
From  Him  all  beings  came,  on  Him  depend, 
To  Him  return,  their  Author,  Sovereign,  End. 
Who    shall    destroy   when    He    would    save?    or 

stand, 
When  He  destroys,  the  stroke  of  his  right  hand? 
With  none  His  name  and  power  will  He  divide, 
For  HE  is  GOD,  and  there  is  none  beside. 

"The  proud  shall  perish ; — mark  how  wild  his  air 
In  impotence  of  malice  and  despair! 
What  frenzy  fires  the  bold  blasphemer's  check  ! 
He  looks  the  curses  which  he  cannot  speak: 
A  hand  hath  touch'd  him  that  he  once  defied ; 
Touch'd,  and  for  ever  crush'd  him  in  his  pride : 
Yet  shall  he  live,  despised  as  fear'd  before ; 
The  great  deceiver  shall  deceive  no  more ; 
Children  shall  pluck  the  beard  of  him  whose  arts 
Falsied  the  boldest  hands,  the  stoutest  hearts  ; 
His  vaunted  wisdom  fools  shall  laugh  to  scorn, 
When,  muttering  spells,  a  spectacle  forlorn, 
A  drivelling  idiot,  he  shall  fondly  roam 
From  house  to  house,  and  never  find  a  home!" 

The  wizard  heard  his  sentence,  nor  remain'd 
A  moment  longer;  from  his  trance  unehain'd, 
He  plunged  into  the  woods  :  —  the  Prophet  then 
Turn'd,  and  took  up  his  parable  again. 

1  This  passage,  the  reader  will  perceive,  is  an  imitation  of 
some  verses  in  the  fourteenth  chapter  of  the  Prophecy  of 
Isaiah,  which  are  applied  to  the  fall  of  the  King  of  Babylon. 
The  following  extract  from  Bishop  Lowth's  note  on  the  ori- 
ginal will  elucidate  the  paraphrase: — '"The  regions  of  the 
Dead  are  laid  open,  and  Hades  is  represented  as  rousing  up 
the  shades  of  the  departed  monarchs;  they  rise  from  their 
thrones  to  meet  the  King  of  Babylon  at  his  coming;  and 
insult  him  on  his  being  reduced  to  the  same  low  state  of  im- 
potence and  dissolution  with  themselves The 

image  of  the  state  of  the  Dead,  or  the  Infernum  PoeUcwn  of 
the  Hebrews,  is  taken  from  theircustom  of  burying,  those  at 
least  of  the  highest  rank,  in  large  sepulchral  vaults  hewn  in 
the  rock.     Of  this  kind  of  sepulchres  there  are  remains  at 


"The  proud  shall  perish:  —  monarch!  know  thy 
doom  : 
Thy  bones  shall  lack  the  shelter  of  a  tomb; 
Not  in  the  battle-field  thine  eyes  shall  close, 
Slain  upon  thousands  of  thy  slaughter'd  foes; 
Not  on  the  throne  of  empire,  nor  the  bed 
Of  weary  Nature,  thou  shalt  bow  thine  head : 
Death  lurks  in  ambush  ;  Death,  without  a  name, 
Shall  pluck  thee  from  thy  pinnacle  of  fame : 
'  At  eve,  rejoicing  o'er  thy  finish'd  toil, 
I   Thy  soul  shall  deem  the  universe  her  spoil ; 
The  dawn  shall  see  thy  carcass  cast  away, 
The  wolves,  at  sunrise,  slumber  on  their  prey. 
Cut  from  the  living,  whither  dost  thou  go? 
Hades  is  moved  to  meet  thee  from  below  : ' 
The  kings  thy  sword  had  slain,  the  mighty  dead, 
Start  from  their  thrones  at  thy  descending  tread; 
They  ask  in  scorn, — 'Destroyer!  is  it  thus? 
Art  thou, —  thou  too, — become  like  one  of  us? 
Torn  from  the  feast  of  music,  wine,  and  mirth, 
The  worms  thy  covering,  and  thy  couch  the  earth ! 
How  art  thou  fall'n  from  thine  ethereal  height, 
Son  of  the  morning!  sunk  in  endless  night: 
How  art  thou  fall'n,  who  said'st,  in  pride  of  soul, 
I  will  ascend  above  the  starry  pole, 
Thence  rule  the  adoring  nations  with  my  nod, 
And  set  my  throne  above  the  Mount  of  God  !  — 
Spilt  in  the  dust,  thy  blood  pollutes  the  ground ; 
Sought    by   the    eyes    that    fear'd    thee,   yet    not 

found  ; 
Thy  chieftains  pause,  they  turn  thy  relics  o'er, 
Then  pass  thee  by, —  for  thou  art  known  no  more. 
Hail  to  thine  advent !  Potentate,  in  hell, 
Unfear'd,  unflatter'd,  undistinguish'd,  dwell : 
On  earth  thy  fierce  ambition  knew  no  rest, 
A  worm,  a  flame,  for  ever  in  thy  breast;  — 
Here  feel  the  rage  of  unconsuming  fire, 
Intense,  eternal,  impotent  desire  ; 

Jerusalem  now  extant :  and  some  that  are  said  to  he  the  se- 
pulchres of  the  kings  of  Judah.  SeeMaundrell.  p.  76.  You 
are  to  form  to  yourself  the  idea  of  an  immense  suhterra  iimu., 
vault,  a  vast  gloomy  cavern,  all  round  the  aides  oi  which 
there  are  cells  to  receive  the  dead  bodies:  here  the  lie 
monarchs  lie  in  a  distinguished  sort  of  state,  suitable  to  their 
former  rank,  each  on  his  own  couch,  with  his  arms  beside 
him.  his  sword  at  his  head,  and  the  bodies  of  his  rhirf-  and 

companions  around  him These  illustrious  shades 

rise  at  once  from  their  couches,  as  from  their  thrones :  and 
advance  to  the  entrance  of  the  cavern  to  meet  the  king  of 
Babylon,  and  to  receive  him  with  insults  ou  his  fall." — 
Lowth's  Isaiah,  xiv.  9.  et  seq. 


Canto  X. 


TIIE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Here  lie,  the  deathless  worm's  unwasting  prey, 
In  chains  of  darkness  till  the  judgment  day  ! ' 

"Thus    while    the    dead    thy    fearful    welcome 
sing, 
Thy  living  slaves  bewail  their  vanish'd  king. 
Then,  though  thy  reign  with  infamy  expire, 
FulfiU'd  in  death  shall  be  thy  vain  desire : 
The  traitors,  reeking  with  thy  blood,  shall  swear 
They  saw  their  sovereign  ravish'd  through  the  air, 
And  point  thy  star  revolving  o'er  the  night, 
A  baleful  comet  with  portentous  light, 
Midst  clouds  and  storms  denouncing  from  afar 
Famine  and  havoc,  pestilence  and  war. 
Temples,  not  tombs,  thy  monuments  shall  be, 
And  altars  blaze  on  hills  and  groves  to  thee ; 
A  pyramid  shall  consecrate  thy  crimes, 
Thy  name  and  honours,  to  succeeding  times; 
There  shall  thine  image  hold  the  highest  place 
Among  the  gods  of  man's  revolted  race  ! 

"  That  race  shall  perish  :  ■ —  Men  and  Giants,  all 
Thy  kindred  and  thy  worshippers,  shall  fall. 
The  babe,  whose  life  with  yesterday  began, 
May  spring  to  youth,  and  ripen  into  man ; 
But,  ere  his  locks  are  tinged  with  fading  grey, 
This  world  of  sinners  shall  be  swept  away. 
Jehovah  lifts  his  standard  to  the  skies ; 
Swift  at  the  signal,  winds  and  vapours  rise  ; 
The  sun  in  sackcloth  veils  his  face  at  noon, — 
The  stars  are  quench'd,  and   turn'd   to  blood   the 

moon. 
Heaven's  fountains  open  ;  clouds  dissolving  roll 
In  mingled  cataracts  from  pole  to  pole  ; 
Earth's  central  sluices  burst ;  the  hills,  uptorn, 
In  rapid  whirlpools  down  the  gulf  are  borne  ; 
The  voice  that  taught  the  Deep  his  bounds  to  know, 
'  Thus  far,  0  Sea  !  nor  farther,  shalt  thou  go,' — 
Sends  forth  the  floods,  commission'd  to  devour 
With  boundless  licence  and  resistless  power; 
They  own  no  impulse  but  the  tempest's  sway, 
Nor  find  a  limit  but  the  light  of  day. 

"  The  vision  opens :  —  sunk  beneath  the  wave, 
The  guilty  share  an  universal  grave ; 
One  wilderness  of  water  rolls  in  view, 
And  heaven  and  ocean  wear  one  turbid  hue ; 
Still  stream  unbroken  torrents  from  the  skies, 
Higher  beneath  the  inundation  rise; 
A  lurid  twilight  glares  athwart  the  scene, 


Low  thunders  peal,  faint  lightnings  flash  between. 
—  Methinks  I  see  a  distant  vessel  ride, 
A  lonely  object,  on  the  shoreless  tide; 
Within  whose  ark  the  innocent  have  found 
Safety,  while  stay'd  Destruction  ravens  round : 
Thus,  in  the  hour  of  vengeance,  God,  who  knows 
His  servants,  spares  them,  while  He  smites  his  foes. 

"  Eastward  I  turn  ;  —  o'er  all  the  deluged  lands, 
Unshaken  yet,  a  mighty  mountain  stands, 
Where  Seth,  of  old,  his  flock  to  pasture  led, 
And  watch'd  the  stars  at  midnight,  from  its  head : 
An  island  now,  its  dark  majestic  form 
Scowls  through  the  thickest  ravage  of  the  storm  ; 
While  on  its  top,  the  monument  of  fame, 
Built  by  the  murderers  to  adorn  thy  name, 
Defies  the  shock  ;  — ■  a  thousand  cubits  high, 
The  sloping  pyramid  ascends  the  sky. 
Thither,  their  latest  refuge  in  distress, 
Like  hunted  wolves,  the  rallying  Giants  press ; 
Round  the  broad  base  of  that  stupendous  tower, 
The  shuddering  fugitives  collect  their  power, 
Cling  to  the  dizzy  cliff,  o'er  ocean  bend, 
And  howl  with  terror  as  the  deeps  ascend. 
The  mountain's  strong  foundations  still  endure, 
The  heights  repel  the  surge.—  Awhile  secure, 
And  cheer'd  with  frantic  hope,  thy  votaries  climb 
The  fabric,  rising  step  by  step,  sublime. 
Beyond  the  clouds  they  see  the  summit  glow 
In  heaven's  pure  daylight,  o'er  the  gloom  below : 
There  too  thy  worshipp'd  image  shines  likes  fire, 
In  the  full  glory  of  thy  fabled  sire. 
They  hail  the  omen,  and  with  heart  and  voice 
Call  on  thy  name,  and  in  thy  smile  rejoice  : 
False  omen  !  on  thy  name  in  vain  they  call; 
Fools  in  their  joy  ;  —  a  moment,  and  they  fall. 
Rent  by  an  earthquake  of  the  buried  plain, 
And  shaken  by  the  whole  disrupted  main, 
The  mountain  trembles  on  its  failing  base, 
It  slides,  it  stoops,  it  rushes  from  its  place ; 
From  all  the  Giants  bursts  one  drowning  cry  ; 
Hark !    'tis    thy   name  —  they    curse    it    as    they 

die : 
Sheer  to  the  lowest  gulf  the  pile  is  hurl'd, 
The  last  sad  wreck  of  a  devoted  world ! 

"  So  fall  transgressors  :  —  Tyrant !  now  fulfil 
Thy  secret  purposes,  thine  utmost  will  ; 
Here  crown  thy  triumphs  :  —  life  or  death  decree, 
The  weakest  here  disdains  thy  power  and  thee  ! " 


100 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


Canto  X. 


Thus  when  the  Patriarch  ceased,  and  every  ear 
Still  listen'd  in  suspense  of  hope  and  fear, 
Sublime,  ineffable,  angelic  grace 
Beam'd  in  his  meek  and  venerable  face : 
And  sudden  glory,  streaming  round  his  head, 
O'er  all  his  robes  with  lambent  lustre  spread  ; 
His  earthly  features  grew  divinely  bright, 
His  essence  seem'd  transforming  into  light. 
Brief  silence,  like  the  pause  between  the  flash 
At  midnight  and  the  following  thunder-crash, 
Ensued  :  —  Anon,  with  universal  cry, 
The  Giants  rush'd  upon  the  Prophet—  "Die  !" 
The  king   leapt   foremost   from  his    throne  ;  —  he 

drew 
His  battle-sword,  as  on  his  mark  he  flew ; 
With  aim  unerring,  and  tempestuous  sound, 
The  blade  descended  deep  along  the  ground : 
The  foe  was  fled,  and,  sclf-o'erwhelni'd,  his  strength 
Hurl'd  to  the  earth  his  Atlantean  length ; 
But,  ere  his  chiefs  could  stretch  the  helping  arm, 
He  sprang  upon  his  feet  in  pale  alarm  ; 
Headlong  and  blind  with  rage  he  scarch'd  around, 
But  Enoch  walk'd  with  God,  and  was  not  found. 

Yet  where  the  captives  stood,  in  holy  awe, 
Eapt  on  the  wings  of  cherubim,  they  saw 
Their  sainted  sire  ascending  through  the  night  j 
lie  turn'd  his  face  to  bless  them  in  his  flight, 
Then  vanish'd;  —  Javan  caught  the  Prophet's  eye, 
And  snatch'd  his  mantle  falling  from  the  sky  ; 
O'er  him  the  Spirit  of  the  Prophet  came, 
Like  rushing  wind  awakening  hidden  flame  : 
»  Where  is  the  God  of  Enoch  now  ?  "  he  cried  ; ' 
'••  Captives,  come  forth  !  Despisers,  shrink  aside  !  " 
He  spake,  and,  bursting  through  the  Giant-throng, 
Smote  with  the  mantle  as  he  moved  along  : 
A  power  invisible  their  rage  controll'd, 
Hither  and  thither  as  he  turn'd  they  roll'd; 
Unaw'd,  unharm'd,  the  ransom'd  prisoners  pass'd 
Through  ranks  of  foes,  astonied  and  aghast  ; 
Close  in  the  youth's  conducting  steps  they  trod : 
—  So  Israel  mareh'd  when  Moses  raised  his  rod, 
And  led  their  host,  enfranchised,  through  the  wave 
The  people's  safeguard,  the  pursuers'  grave. 

Thus  from  the  wolves  this  little  flock  was  torn, 
And,  sheltering  in  the  mountain-caves  till  morn, 


They  join'd  to  sing,  in  strains  of  full  delight, 
Songs  of  deliverance  through  the  dreary  night. 

The  Giants'  frenzy,  when  they  lost  their  prey. 
No  tongue  of  man  or  angel  might  portray : 
First  on  their  idol-gods  their  vengeance  turn'd, 
Those  gods  on  their  own  altar-piles  they  burn'd; 
Then,  at  their  sovereign's  mandate,  sallied  forth 
To  rouse  their  host  to  combat,  from  the  north; 
Eager  to  risk  their  uttermost  emprise, 
Perish  ere  morn,  or  reign  in  Paradise. 
Now  the  slow  tempest,  that  so  long  had  lower'd, 
Keen  in  their  faces  sleet  and  hailstones  shower'd; 
The  winds  blew  loud,  the  waters  roar'd  around, 
An  earthquake  rock'd  the  agonising  ground  : 
Red  in  the  west  the  burning  mount,  array'd 
With  tenfold  terror  by  incumbent  shade, 
(For  moon  and  stars  were  wrapt  in  duunest  gloom,) 
Glared  like  a  torch  amidst  creation's  tomb : 
So  Sinai's  rocks  were  kindled  when  they  felt 
Their  Maker's  footstep,  and  began  to  melt ; 
Darkness  was  his  pavilion,  whence  He  came, 
Hid  in  the  brightness  of  descending  flame, 
While  storm,  and  whirlwind,  and  the  trumpet's  blast, 
Proclaim'd  his  law  in  thunder  as  He  pass'd. 

The    Giants   reach'd   their   camp:  —  the   night's 
alarms 
Meanwhile  had  startled  all  their  slaves  to  arms : 
They  grasp'd   their  weapons    as   from   sleep   they 

sprang, 
From  tent  to  tent  the  brazen  clangour  rang: 
The  hail,  the  earthquake,  the  mysterious  light, 
Unnerved   their   strength,  o'erwhelm'd   them  with 

affright. 
"  Warriors  !  to  battle  ;  —  summon  all  your  powers  I 
Warriors  !  to  conquest ;—  Paradise  is  ours  !  " 
Exclaim'd  their  monarch  :— not  an  arm  was  raised  j 
In  vacancy  of  thought,  like  men  amazed, 
And  lost  amidst  confounding  dreams,  they  stood, 
With  palsied  eyes,  and  horror-frozen  blood. 
The  Giants'  rage  to  instant  madness  grew  ; 
The  king  and  chiefs  on  their  own  legions  flew, 
Denouncing  vengeance  !     Then  had  all  the  plain 
Been  heap'd  with  myriads  by  their  leaders  slain  ; 
But,  ere  a  sword  could  fall.-by  whirlwinds  driven, 
In  mighty  volumes,  through  the  vault  of  heaven, 


ten  the  waters,  they  parted  hither  and  thither;  and  Elisha 
.  « And  he  <Ema)  took  the  mantte  of  Ehjah    hat  fell       J^»  £?    u.  14. 
from  him.  and  smol,  the  waters  {of  Jordan),  and  raid,-       went 
Where  is  the  Lord  God  of  Elijah?    And  when  he  had  smit-    l 


Canto  X. 


THE  WORLD  BEFORE  THE  FLOOD. 


101 


From  Eden's  summit,  o'er  the  camp  accurst, 

The  darting  fires  with  noonday  splendour  burst; 

And  fearful  grew  the  scene  above,  below, 

With  sights  of  mystery,  and  sounds  of  woe. 

Tho  embattled  cherubim  appear'd  on  high, 

And   coursers,    wing'd  with   lightning,    swept  the 

sky; 
Chariots,  whose  wheels  with  living  instinct  roll'd, 
Spirits  of  unimaginable  mould, 
Powers,  such  as  dwell  in  heaven's  sorenest  light, 
Too  pure,  too  terrible,  for  mortal  sight, 
From  depth  of  midnight  suddenly  reveal'd, 
Id  arms,  against  the  Giants  took  the  field. 
On  such  an  host  Elisha's  servant  gazed, 
When  all  the  mountain  round  the  prophet  blazed;1 
With    such    an   host,   when   war   in    Heaven   was 

wrought, 
Michael  against  the  Prince  of  Darkness  fought. 

Roused  by  the  trumpet  that  shall  wake  the  dead, 
The  torpid  foe  in  consternation  fled; 
The  Giants  headlong  in  the  uproar  ran, 
The  king  himself  the  foremost  of  the  van, 
Nor  e'er  his  rushing  squadrons  led  to  fight 
With  swifter  onset  that  he  led  that  flight. 
Homeward  the  panic-stricken  legions  flew; 
Their  arms,  their  vestments,  from  their  limbs  they 

threw; 
O'er  shields  and  helms  the  reinless  camel  strode, 
And  gold  and  purple  strew'd  the  desert  road. 
When  through  the  Assyrian  army,  like  a  blast, 
At  midnight,  the  destroying  angel  pass'd, 
The  tyrant  that  defied  the  living  God, 
Precipitately  thus  his  steps  retrod ; 
Even  by  the  way  he  came,  to  his  own  land, 
Return'd,  to  perish  by  his  offspring's  hand.2 
So  fled  the  Giant-monarch  ;  —  but  unknown 
The  hand  that  smote  his  lifo  :  —  he  died  alone  ; 
Amidst  the  tumult  treacherously  slain  : 
At  morn  his  chieftains  sought  their  lord  in  vain, 


1 2  Kings,  vi.  17. 


2  2  Kings,  xix  33—37. 


Then,  reckless  of  the  harvest  of  their  toils, 

Their  camp,  their  captives,  all  their  treasured  spoils, 

Rencw'd  their  flight  o'er  eastern  hills  afar, 

With  life  alone  escaping  from  that  war 

In  which  their  king  had  hail'd  his  realm  complete, 

The  world's  last  province  bow'd  beneath  his  feet. 

As,  when  the  waters  of  the  Flood  declined, 
Rolling  tumultuously  before  the  wind, 
The  proud  waves  shrunk  from  low  to  lower  beds, 
And  high  the  hills  and  higher  raised  their  heads, 
Till  ocean  lay,  enchased  with  rock  and  strand, 
As  in  the  hollow  of  the  Almighty's  hand, 
While  earth  with  wrecks  magnificent  was  strew'd, 
And  stillness  reign'd  o'er  Nature's  solitude  : 
—  Thus,  in  a  storm  of  horror  and  dismay, 
All  night  the  Giant-army  sped  away; 
Thus,  on  a  lonely,  sad,  and  silent  scene 
The  morning  rose  in  majesty  serene. 

Early  and  joyful  o'er  the  dewy  grass, 
Straight  to  their  glen  the  ransom'd  Patriarchs  pass  : 
As  doves  released  their  parent  dwelling  find, 
They  fly  for  life,  nor  cast  a  look  behind ; 
And  when  they  reach'd  their  dear  scquester'd  spot, 
Enoch  alone  of  all  their  train  "was  not." 
With    them   the   bard,  who  from   the  world  with- 
drew, 
Javan,  from  folly  and  ambition  flew  ; 
Though  poor  his  lot,  within  that  narrow  bound 
Friendship,  and  home,  and  faithful  love,  he  found  : 
There  did  his  wanderings  and  afflictions  cease; 
His  youth  was  penitence,  his  age  was  peace. 

Meanwhile  the  scatter'd  tribes  of  Eden's  plain 
Turn'd  to  their  desolated  fields  again, 
And  join'd  their  brethren,  captives  once  in  fight: 
But  left  to  freedom  in  that  dreadful  flight  : 
Thenceforth  redeem'd  from  war's  unnumber'd  woes, 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  their  retreated  foes, 
By  Giant-tyranny  no  more  opprest, 
The  people  flourish'd,  and  the  land  had  rest. 


102 


GREENLAND. 


GREENLAND 


A  POEM,  IN  FIVE  CANTOS. 


PREFACE. 

In  the  following  poem  the  Author  frankly  acknow- 
ledges that  he  has  so  far  failed,  as  to  be  under  the 
necessity  of  sending  it  forth  incomplete,  or  sup- 
pressing it  altogether.  Why  he  has  not  done  the 
latter  is  of  little  importance  to  the  public,  which 
will  assuredly  award  him  no  more  credit  than  his 
performance,  taken  as  it  is,  can  command ;  while  the 
consequences  of  his  temerity,  or  his  misfortune,  must 
remain  wholly  with  himself. 

The  original  plan  was  intended  to  embrace  the 
most  prominent  events  in  the  annals  of  ancient  and 
modern  Greenland ;  —  incidental  descriptions  of 
whatever  is  sublime  or  picturesque  in  the  seasons 
and  scenery,  or  peculiar  in  the  superstitions,  man- 
ners, and  character  of  the  natives ;  —  with  a  rapid 
retrospect  of  that  moral  revolution  which  the  Gos- 
pel has  wrought  among  these  people,  by  reclaiming 
them,  almost  universally,  from  dark  idolatry  and 
savage  ignorance. 

Of  that  part  of  the  projected  poem  which  is  here 
exhibited,  the  first  three  cantos  contain  a  sketch  of 
the  history  of  the  ancient  Moravian  Church,  its  re- 
vival in  the  early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
the  origin  of  the  missions  by  that  people  to  Green- 
land, and  the  voyage  of  the  first  three  brethren  who 
went  thither  in  1733.  The  fourth  canto  refers 
principally  to  traditions  concerning  the  Norwegian 
colonies,  which  are  said  to  have  existed,  on  both 
shores  of  Greenland,  from  the  tenth  century  to  the 
fifteenth.  In  the  fifth  canto  the  Author  has  at- 
tempted, in  a  series  of  episodes,  to  sum  up  and  ex- 
emplify the  chief  causes  of  the  extinction  of  those 
colonies,  and  the  abandonment  of  Greenland  for 
several  centuries  by  European  voyagers.  Although 
this  canto  is  entirely  a  work  of  imagination,  the 
fiction  has  not  been  adopted  merely  as  a  substitute 
for  lost  facts,  but  as  a  vehicle  for  illustrating  some 
of  the  most  splendid  and  striking  phenomena  of  the 


climate,  for  which  a  more  appropriate  place  might 
not  have  been  found,  even  if  the  poem  had  been 
carried  to  a  successful  conclusion. 

The  principal  subjects  introduced  in  the  course 
of  the  poem  will  be  found  in  Crantz's  histories  of 
the  Brethren  and  of  Greenland,  or  in  Risler's  Narra- 
tives, extracted  from  the  records  of  the  ancient 
Unitaa  Fratrum,  or  United  Brethren.  To  the  ac- 
counts of  Iceland,  by  various  travellers,  the  author 
is  also  much  indebted. 
Sheffield,  March  27, 1819. 


GREENLAND. 

CANTO  FIRST. 

The  first  three  Moravian  Missionaries  are  represented 
as  on  their  Voyage  to  Greenland,  in  the  Year  1733. 
Sketch  of  the  Descent,  Establishment,  Persecutions, 
Extinction,  and  Revival  of  the  Church  of  the 
United  Brethren  from  the  Tenth  to  the  beginning 
of  the  Eighteenth  Century.  The  Origin  of  their 
Missions  to  the  West  Indies  and  to  Greenland. 

The  moon  is  watching  in  the  sky ;  the  stars 

Are  swiftly  wheeling  on  their  golden  cars ; 

Ocean,  outstretch'd  with  infinite  expanse, 

Serenely  slumbers  in  a  glorious  trance ; 

The  tide,  o'er  which  no  troubling  spirits  breathe, 

Reflects  a  cloudless  firmament  beneath  ; 

Where,  poised  as  in  the  centre  of  a  sphere, 

A  ship  above  and  ship  below  appear ; 

A  double  image,  pictured  on  the  deep, 

The  vessel  o'er  its  shadow  seems  to  sleep  : 

Yet,  like  the  host  of  Heaven  that  never  rest, 

With  evanescent  motion  to  the  west 

The  pageant  glides  through  loneliness  and  night, 

And  leaves  behind  a  rippling  wake  of  light. 


Canto  I. 


GREENLAND. 


103 


Hark  !  through  the  calm  and  silence  of  the  scene, 
Slow,  solemn,  sweet,  with  many  a  pause  between, 
Celestial  music  swells  along  the  air ! 
— No  ! — 'tis  the  evening  hymn  of  praise  and  prayer 
From  yonder  deck;  where,  on  the  stern  retired, 
Three  humble  voyagers,  with  looks  inspired, 
And  hearts  enkindled  with  a  holier  flame 
Than  ever  lit  to  empire  or  to  fame, 
Devoutly  stand:  —  their  choral  accents  rise 
On  wings  of  harmony  beyond  the  skies ; 
And,  'midst  the  songs  that  Seraph-Minstrels  sing, 
Day  without  night,  to  their  immortal  King, 
These  simple  strains,  —  which  erst  Bohemian  hills 
Echo'd  to  pathless  woods  and  desert  rills, 
Now    heard   from    Shetland's    azure   bound,  —  are 

known 
In  heaven ;  and  He,  who  sits  upon  the  throne 
In  human  form,  with  mediatorial  power, 
Remembers  Calvary,  and  hails  the  hour 
When,  by  the  Almighty  Father's  high  decree, 
The  utmost  north  to  Him  shall  bow  the  knee, 
And,  won  by  love,  an  untamed  rebel-race 
Kiss  the  victorious  Sceptre  of  His  grace. 
Then  to  Ilia  eye,  whose  instant  glance  pervades 
Heaven's  heights,  Earth's  circle,  Hell's  profoundest 

shades, 
Is  there  a  group  more  lovely  than  those  three 
Night-watching  Pilgrims  on  the  lonely  sea? 
Or  to  His  ear,  that  gathers  in  one  sound 
The  voices  of  adoring  worlds  around, 
Comes  there  a  breath  of  more  delightful  praise 
Than  the  faint  notes  his  poor  disciples  raise, 
Ere  on  the  treacherous  main  they  sink  to  rest, 
Secure  as  leaning  on  their  Master's  breast? 

They  sleep :  but  memory  wakes  ;  and  dreams  array 
Night  in  a  lively  masquerade  of  day. 
The  land  they  seek,  the  land  they  leave  behind, 
Meet  on  mid-ocean  in  the  plastic  mind : 
One  brings  forsaken  home  and  friends  so  nigh, 
That  tears  in  slumber  swell  th'  unconscious  eye; 
The  other  opens,  with  prophetic  view, 
Perils,  which  e'en  their  fathers  never  knew, 
(Though  school'd  by  suffering,  long  inured  to  toil, 
Outcasts  and  exiles  from  their  natal  soil;) 
—  Strange   scenes,    strange   men  ;  untold,   untried 

distress; 
Pain,  hardships,  famine,  cold,  and  nakedness, 
Diseases ;  death  in  every  hideous  form, 
On  shore,  at  sea,  by  fire,  by  flood,  by  storm; 


Wild    beasts    and   wilder    men;  —  unmoved   with 

fear, 
Health,  comfort,  safety,  life,  they  count  not  dear. 
May  they  but  hope  a  Saviour's  love  to  show, 
And  warn  one  spirit  from  eternal  woe : 
Nor  will  they  faint;  nor  can  they  strive  in  vain, 
Since  thus  —  to  live  is  Christ,  to  die  is  gain. 

'Tis  morn:  —  the  bathing  moon  her  lustre  shrouds; 
Wide  o'er  the  cast  impends  an  arch  of  clouds, 
That  spans  the  ocean  ;  —  while  the  infant  dawn 
Peeps  through  the  portal  o'er  the  liquid  lawn, 
That  ruffled  by  an  April  gale  appears, 
Between  the  gloom  and  splendour  of  the  spheres, 
Dark-purple  as  the  moorland-heath,  when  rain 
Hangs  in  low  vapours  o'er  the  autumnal  plain  : 
Till  the  full  Sun,  resurgent  from  the  flood, 
Looks  on  the  waves,  and  turns  them  into  blood  ; 
But  quickly  kindling,  as  his  beams  aspire, 
The  lambent  billows  play  in  forms  of  fire. 
—  Where   is   the   Vessel?  —  Shining    through   the 

light, 
Like  the  white  sea-fowl's  horizontal  flight, 
Yonder  she  wings,  and  skims,  and  cleaves  her  way 
Through  refluent  foam  and  iridescent  spray. 

Lo  !  on  the  deck  with  patriarchal  grace, 
Heaven  in  his  bosom  opening  o'er  his  face, 
Stands  CnnisTiAN  David  ;  — venerable  name  ! 
Bright  in  the  records  of  celestial  fame, 
On  earth  obscure  ;  — like  some  sequester'd  star, 
That  rolls  in  its  Creator's  beams  afar, 
Unseen  by  man  ;  till  telescopic  eye, 
Sounding  the  blue  abysses  of  the  sky, 
Draws  forth  its  hidden  beauty  into  light, 
And  adds  a  jewel  to  the  crown  of  night. 
Though  hoary  with  the  multitude  of  years, 
Unshorn  of  strength,  between  his  young  compeers 
He  towers;  —  with  faith,  whose  boundless  glance 

can  see 
Time's  shadows  brightening  through  eternity; 
Love — God's  own  love  in  his  pure  breast  enshrined; 
Love  —  love  to  man  the  magnet  of  his  mind  ; 
Sublimer  schemes  maturing  in  his  thought 
Than  ever  statesman  plann'd  or  warrior  wrought : 
While,  with  rejoicing  tears,  and  rapturous  sighs, 
To  heaven  ascends  their  morning  sacrifice.1 


1  The  names  of  the  first  three  Moravian  missionaries  to 
Greenland  were  Christian  David,  Matthew  Stach,  and  Chris- 
tian Stach. 


101 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  L 


Whence  are  the  pilgrims?  whither  would  they  roatn? 
Greenland  their  port;  —  Moravia  teas  their  home. 
Sprung  from  a  race  of  martyrs  ;  men  who  bore 
The  cross  on  many  a  Golgotha  of  yore  ; 
When  first  Selavonian  tribes  the  truth  received, 
And  princes,  at  the  price  of  thrones,  believed; ' 

i  The  Church  of  the  United  Brethren  (first  established 
under  that  name  about  the  year  1460)  traces  its  descent 
from  the  Selavonian  branch  of  the  Greek  Church,  which 
was  spread  throughout  Bohemia  and  Moravia,  as  well  as 
the  ancient  Dalmatia.  The  Bulgarians  were  once  the  most 
powerful  tribe  of  the  Sclavic  nations;  and  among  them 
the  Gospel  was  introduced  in  the  ninth  century. 

The  story  of  the  introduction  of  Christianity  among  the 
Sclavonic  tribes  is  interesting.  The  Bulgarians,  being  bor- 
derers on  the  Greek  empire,  frequently  made  predatory  in- 
cursions on  the  Imperial  territory.  On  one  occasion  the 
sister  of  Bogaris,  King  of  the  Bulgarians,  was  taken  pri- 
soner, and  carried  to  Constantinople.  Being  a  royal  cap- 
tive, she  was  treated  with  great  honour,  and  diligently  in- 
structed in  the  doctrines  of  the  Gospel,  of  the  truth  of 
which  she  became  so  deeply  convinced,  that  she  desired  to 
he  baptized:  and  when,  in  845,  the  Emperor  Michael  III. 
made  peace  with  the  Bulgarians,  she  returned  to  her  coun- 
try a  pious  and  zealous  Christian.  Being  earnestly  con- 
cerned for  the  conversion  of  her  brother  and  his  people, 
she  wrote  to  Constantinople  for  teachers  to  instruct  them 
in  the  way  of  righteousness.  Two  distinguished  bishops 
of  the  Creek  Church,  Cyrillus  and  Methodius,  were  ac- 
cordingly sent  into  Bulgaria.  The  King  Bogaris.  who 
heretofore  had  resisted  conviction,  conceived  a  particular 
affection  for  Methodius,  who.  being  a  skilful  painter,  was 
desired  by  him,  in  the  spirit  of  a  barbarian,  to  compose  a 
picture  exhibiting  the  most  horrible  devices.  Methodius 
took  a  happy  advantage  of  this  strange  request,  and  painted 
the  Day  of  Judgment  in  a  style  so  terrific,  and  explained  its 
scenes  to  his  royal  master  in  language  so  awful  and  affecting, 
that  Bogaris  was  awakened,  made  a  profession  of  the  true 
faith,  and  was  baptized  by  the  name  of  Michael,  in  honour  of 
his  benefactor,  the  Greek  Emperor.  His  subjects,  according 
to  the  fashion  of  the  times,  some  by  choice,  and  others  from 
constraintjadopted  their  master's  religion.  ToCyrillus  isi  t- 
trihuted  the  translation  of  the  Scriptures  still  in  use  anions 
the  descendants  of  the  Selavonian  tribes  which  adhere  to  the 
Greek  Church :  and  this  is  probably  the  most  ancient  Euro- 
pean version  of  the  Bible  in  a  living  tongue. 

But  notwithstanding  this  triumphant  introduction  of 
Christianity  among  these  fierce  nations  (including  the 
Bohemians  and  Moravians),  multitudes  adhered  to  idola- 
try, and  anions  the  nobles  especially  many  continued 
Pagans,  and  in  open  or  secret  enmity  against  the  new 
religion  audits  professors.  In  Bohemia, Duke  Boraiwog, 
having  embraced  the  Gospel,  was  expelled  by  his  chief- 
tains; and  one  Stoymirus.  who  had  been  thirteen  years  in 
exile,  and  who  was  believed  to  be  a  heathen,  was  chosen 
by  them  as  their  prince.  He  being,  however,  soon  de- 
tected in  Christian  worship,  was  deposed,  and  Borziwog 
recalled.  The  latter  die*  soon  after  his  restoration,  leav- 
ing his  widow.  Ludomilla,  regent  during  the  minority  of 
her  son  Wratislaus,  who  married  a  noble  lady,  named 
Drahomira.    The  young  duchess,  to  ingratiate  horeelf  with 


—  When  Waldo,  flying  from  the'  apostate  west,5 
In  German  wilds  his  righteous  cause  confess'd; 

—  When  Wickliffe,  like  a  rescuing  Angel,  found 
The  dungeon  where  the  Word  of  God  lay  bound, 
Unloosed  its  chains,  and  led  it  by  the  hand, 

In  its  own  sunshine,  through  his  native  land:3 


her  husband  and  her  mother-in-law,  affected  to  embrace 
Christianity,  while  in  her  heart  she  remained  an  implac- 
able enemy  to  it.  Her  husband  dying  early,  left  her  with 
two  iufaut  hoys.  Wcnceslaus,  the  elder,  was  taken  by  bis 
grandmother,  the  pious  Ludomilla,  and  carefully  educated 
in  Christian  principles:  the  younger,  Bolcslas,  was  net  less 
carefully  educated  in  hostility  against  them  by  Drahomira ; 
who,  seizing  the  government  during  the  minority  of  her 
children,  shut  up  the  churches,  forbade  the  clergy  either  to 
preach  or  teach  in  schools,  and  imprisoned,  banished,  or 
put  to  death  those  who  disobeyed  her  edicts  against  the 
Gospel.  But  when  her  eldest  son,  Wcnceslaus,  became  of 
a2c.  he  was  persuaded  by  his  grandmother  and  the  prin- 
cipal Christian  nobles  to  take  possession  of  the  government, 
which  was  his  inheritance.  He  did  so,  and  began  his  reign 
by  removing  his  pagan  mother  and  brother  to  a  distance, 
from  the  metropolis.  Drahomira,  transported  with  rage, 
resolved  to  rid  herself  of  her  mother-in-law,  whose  in- 
fluence over  Wcnceslaus  was  predominant.  She  found  two 
heathen  assassins  ready  for  her  purpose,  who,  stealing  on- 
perceived  into  Ludomilla's  oratory,  fell  upon  her  as  she 
entered  it  for  evening  prayers,  threw  a  rope  round  her 
neck,  and  strangled  her.  The  remorseless  Drahomira  next 
plotted  against  Wcnceslaus,  to  deprive  him  of  the  govern- 
ment; hut  her  intrigues  miscarrying,  she  proposed  to  her 
heathen  son  to  murder  him.  An  opportunity  soon  offered. 
( In  the  birth  of  a  son.  Bolcslas  invited  his  Christian  brother 
to  visit  him. and  be  present,  at  a  pretended  ceremony  of  bless- 
ing the  infant.  Wcnceslaus  attended,  and  was  treated  with 
unwonted  kindness ;  but.  suspecting  treachery,  he  could  not 
sleep  in  his  brother's  house.  He  therefore  went  to  spend 
the  night  in  the  church.  Here,  as  he  lay  defenceless  in  an 
imagined  sanctuary,  Boleslas,  instigated  by  their  unnatural 
mother,  surprised  and  slew  him  with  his  sabre.  The  mur- 
derer immediately  usurped  the  sovereignty,  and  commenced 
a  cruel  persecution  against  the  Christians,  which  was  termi- 
nated by  the  interference  of  the  Roman  Emperor  Otto  I., 
who  made  war  upon  Boleslas,  reduced  him  to  the  conditii  in 
of  a  vassal,  and  gave  peace  to  his  persecuted  subjects.  This 
happened  in  the  year  943. 

2  With  the  Waldenses,  the  Bohemian  and  Moravian 
Churches,  which  never  properly  submitted  to  the  authority 
Of  the  l'ope,  held  intimate  communion  for  ages:  and  from 
Stephen,  the  last  bishop  of  the  Waldcnses,in  141,7.  the  toiled 
Brethren  received  their  episcopacy.  Almost  immediately 
afterwards,  those  ancient  confessors  of  the  truth  were  dis- 
persed by  a  cruel  persecution,  and  Stephen  himself  suffered 
martyrdom,  being  burnt  as  a  heretic  at  Vienna. 

s  Wiekliifes  writings  were  early  translated  into  the  Bi  ihe- 
mian  tongue,  and  eagerly  read  by  the  devout  and  persecuted 
people,  who  never  had  given  up  the  Bible  in  their  own  lan- 
gnage,  nor  consented  to  perform  their  church  service  in 
Latin.  Archbishop  Shinek.  of  Prague,  ordered  the  w  i  irks 
of  Wickliffe  to  be  burnt  by  the  hands  of  the  hangman. 
lie  himself  could  scarcely  read  ! 


Canto  I. 


GREENLAND. 


105 


—  When  Hrss,  the  victim  of  perfidious  foes, 
To  heaven  upon  a  fiery  chariot  rose; 

And,  ere  he  vanish'd,  with  a  prophet's  breath 
Foretold  the'  immortal  triumphs  of  his  death:1 

—  When  Ziska,  burning  with  fanatic  zeal, 
Exchanged  the  Spirit's  sword  for  patriot  steel, 
And  through  the  heart  of  Austria's  thick  array 
To  Tabor's  summit  stabb'd  resistless  way; 
But  there  (as  if  transfigured  on  the  spot 

The  world's  Redeemer  stood)  his  rage  forgot; 
Deposed  his  arms  and  trophies  in  the  dust, 
Wept  like  a  babe,  and  placed  in  God  his  trust, 
While  prostrate  warriors  kiss'd  the  hallow'd  ground, 
And  lay,  like  slain,  in  silent  ranks  around  :2 

—  When  mild  Gregouius,  in  a  lowlier  field, 
As  brave  a  witness,  as  unwont  to  yield, 

As  Ziska's  self,  with  patient  footsteps  trod 
A  path  of  suffering,  like  the  Soy  op  God, 
And  nobler  palms,  by  meek  endurance  won, 
Than  if  his  sword  had  blazed  from  sun  to  sun  : 3 
Though  nature  fail'd  him  on  the  racking  wheel, 
He  felt  the  joys  which  parted  spirits  feel; 
Rapt  into  bliss  from  ecstasy  of  pain, 
Imagination  wander'd  o'er  a  plain  : 

i  It  is  well  known  that  John  Hups  (who  might  be  called 
a  disciple  of  our  Wickliffe),  though  furnished  with  a  safe- 
conduct  by  the  emperor  Sigismund,  was  burnt  by  a  decree 
of  the  council  of  Constance.  Several  sayings  predictive  of 
retribution  to  the  priests,  and  reformation  in  the  Church, 
are  recorded,  as  being  uttered  by  him  in  his  last  hours. 
Among  others:  —  "A  hundred  years  hence,"'  said  he,  ad- 
dressing his  judges,  "ye  shall  render  an  account  of  your 
doings  to  God  and  to  me."  Luther  appeared  at  the  period 
thus  indicated. 

2  After  the  martyrdom  of  John  Huss,  his  followers  and 
countrymen  took  up  arms  for  the  maintenance  of  their  civil 
and  religious  liberties.  The  first  and  most  distinguished 
of  their  leaders  was  John  Ziska.  lie  seized  possession  of  a 
high  mountain,  which  he  fortified,  and  called  Tabor.  Here 
he  and  his  people  (who  were  hence  called  Taborites) 
worshipped  God  according  to  their  consciences  and  His 
holy  word ;  while  in  the  plains  they  fought  and  conquered 
their  persecutors  and  enemies. 

3  The  genuine  followers  of  John  Huss  never  approved  of 
tf  e  war  for  religion  carried  on  by  Ziska,  though  many  of 
them  were  incidentally  involved  in  it.  Kokyzan.a  Calixtinc, 
having  with  his  party  made  a  compromise  with  their  sove- 
reign and  the  priests,  by  which  they  were  allowed  the  use  of 
the  cup  in  the  sacrament,  was  made  archbishop  of  Prague  in 
the  year  1435 ;  and  thenceforward,  though  he  had  been  fully 
convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  doctrines  promulgated  bylluss, 
he  became  a  treacherous  friend  or  an  open  enemy  of  his  fol- 
lowers, as  it  happened  to  serve  the  purposes  of  his  ambition. 
The  Pope,  however,  refused  to  confirm  him  in  his  new  dig- 
nity, unless  he  would  relinquish  the  cup;  on  which,  for  a 
time,  he  made  '-Teat  pretensions  of  undertaking  a  thorough 
reform  in  the  church.     All  who  hoped  any  thing  good  of  him 


Fair  in  the  midst,  beneath  a  morning  s!:y, 

A  tree  its  ample  branches  bore  mi  high, 

'Villi  fragrant  bloom,  and  fruit  delicious  hung, 

While  birds  beneath  the  foliage  fed  and  sung; 

All  glittering  to  the  sun  with  diamond  dew, 

O'er  sheep  and  kine  a  breezy  shade  it  threw  ; 

A  lovely  boy,  the  child  of  hope  and  prayer, 

With  crook  and  shepherd's  pipe,  was  watching  there; 

At  hand  three  venerable  forms  were  seen, 

In  simple  garb,  with  apostolic  mien, 

Who  mark'd  the  distant  fields  convulsed  with  strife, 

—  The  guardian  Cherubs  of  that  Tree  of  Life  ; 
Not  arm'd,  like  Eden's  host,  with  flaming  brands, 
Alike  to  friends  and  foes  they  stretch  their  hands 
In  sign  of  peace,  and,  while  Destruction  spread 
His  path  with  carnage,  welcomed  all  who  lied : 

—  When  poor  COMENICS,  with  his  little  flock, 
Escaped  the  wolves,  and,  from  the  boundary  rock, 
Cast  o'er  Moravian  hills  a  look  of  woe, 

Saw  the  green  vales  expand,  the  waters  flow, 
And  happier  years  revolving  in  his  mind, 
Caught  every  sound  that  murmur'd  on  the  wind; 
As  if  his  eye  could  never  thence  depart, 
As  if  his  ear  were  seated  in  his  heart, 

were  disappointed,  and  none  more  than  bis  pious  nephew 
< ;  regi  irius,  who  in  vain,  on  behalf  of  the  peaceJoving  Huss- 
ites, besought  him  to  proceed  in  the  work  of  church-rege- 
neration. He  refused  peremptorily,  at  length,  after  having 
greatly  dissimulated  and  temporised.  His  refusal  was  the 
immediate  cause  of  the  commencement  of  the  Church  of  the 
United  Brethren,  in  that  form  in  which  it  has  been  recog- 
nised for  nearly  400  years.  They  were  no  sooner  known, 
however,  as  "  FratresUgia  Chrisli,"  Brethren  according  to 
tlie  rule  of  Christ,  than  they  were  persecuted  as  heretics. 
Among  others,  Gregorius,  who  is  styled  the  "  Patriarch  of 
the  Brethren,"  was  apprehended  at  a  private  meeting  with  a 
number  of  Ids  people.  The  judge  who  executed  the  royal 
authority,  on  entering  the  room,  used  these  remarkable 
words  :  —  "It  is  written,  all  that  will  live  godly  in  Christ 
Jesus  shall  suffer  persecution ;  therefore,  follow  me,  by  com- 
mand of  the  higher  powers."  They  followed,  and  were  sen- 
tenced to  the  torture.  On  the  rack,  Gregorius  fell  into  a 
swoon,  and  all  present  supposed  him  to  be  dead.  Hereupon 
his  apostate  uncle  Itokyzau  hastened  to  the  spot,  and,  falling 
upon  his  neck,  with  tears  and  loud  lamentations  bewailed 
him,  exclaiming,  — "  0,  my  dear  Gregorius!  would  God  I 
were  where  thou  art!"  His  nephew,  however,  revived,  ajul 
was  set  at  liberty.  He  afterwards,  according  to  tradition, 
declared  that  in  his  trance  he  had  sexm  a  vision :  —  a  tree, 
covered  with  leaves  and  blossoms  and  fruits,  on  which 
many  beautiful  birds  were  feeding  and  melodiously  sing- 
ing. Under  it  was  a  shepherd's  boy,  and  near  at  hand 
three  venerable  old  men  (as  guardiaus  of  the  tree),  whose 
habiliments  and  countenances  were  those  of  the  three 
persons  who,  several  years  afterwards,  were  consecrated 
the  first  bishops  of  the  church  of  the  United  Brethren,  ty 
Stephen,  the  last  bishop  of  the  Waldenses. 


106 


G  H  E  E  X  L  A  X  D . 


Canto  I. 


And  his  full  soul  would  thence  a  passage  break, 
To  leave  the  body,  for  his  country's  sake ; 
While  on  his  knees  he  pour'd  the  fervent  prayer, 
That  God  would  make  that  martyr-land  His  care, 
And  nourish  in  its  ravaged  soil  a  root 
Of  Gregor's  Tree,  to  bear  perennial  fruit.1 

His  prayer  was  heard:  —  that  Church,  through 

ages  past, 
Assail'd  and  rent  by  persecution's  blast; 
Whose  sons  no  yoke  could  crush,  no  burden  tire, 
Unawed  by  dungeons,  tortures,  sword,  and  fire, 
(Less  proof  against  the  world's  alluring  wiles, 
Whose  frowns  have  weaker  terrors  than  its  smiles  ;) 
—  That  Church,  o'erthrown,  dispersed,  unpeopled, 

dead, 
Oft  from  the  dust  of  ruin  raised  her  head, 
And  rallying  round  her  feet,  as  from  their  graves, 
Her  exiled  orphans,  hid  in  forest-caves  ; 

1  John  Amos  Comenius,  one  of  the  most  learned  as  well 
as  pious  men  of  his  age,  was  minister  of  the  Brethren's  con- 
gregation at  Fulneck,  in  Moravia,  from  1618  to  1627,  when, 
the  Protestant  nobility  and  clergy  being  expatriated,  he  fled 
with  a  part  of  his  people  through  Silesia  into  Poland.  On 
the  summit  of  the  mountains  forming  the  boundary,  he 
turned  bis  sorrowful  eyes  towards  Bohemia  and  Moravia, 
and,  kneeling  down  with  his  brethren  there,  implored  God, 
with  many  tears,  that  He  would  not  take  away  the  light 
of  his  holy  word  from  those  two  provinces,  but  preserve  in 
them  a  remnant  for  Himself.     A  remnant  was  saved. 

Comenius  afterwards  visited  and  resided  in  various  parts 
of  Germany,  Holland,  and  England;  every  where,  on  his 
travels,  recommending,  with  earnestness  and  importunity, 
the  case  of  his  oppressed  brethren  in  Bohemia  and  Moravia 
to  men  in  power.  But  his  appeals  were  in  vain;  and  when, 
at  the  peace  of  Westphalia,  in  164S,  he  found  that  nothing 
was  provided  for  their  protection  in  the  free  exercise  of  their 
religion,  he  published  an  affecting  representation  of  the 
peculiar  hardships  of  their  church,  in  which  he  observed: — 
"  We  justly,  indeed,  deserve  to  bear  the  wrath  of  Almighty 
God;  but  will  such  men  [alluding  to  the  Protestant  diplo- 
matists and  their  constituent  authorities]  be  able  to  justify 
tbeir  actions  before  God,  who,  forgetting  the  common  cause 
of  all  Protestants,  and  the  old  covenants  amongst  us,  neglect 
to  assist  those  who  are  oppressed  in  the  same  engagements  1 
Having  made  peace  for  themselves,  they  never  gave  it  a 
thought,  that  the  Bohemians  and  Moravians,who  at  the  first, 
and  fur  so  many  centuries,  asserted  the  truth  in  opposition  to 
Popery,  were  likewise  worthy  to  be  mutually  considered  by 
them ;  that  the  light  of  the  Gospel,  which  first  was  enkindled 
and  putupon  the  candlestick  in  the  Brethren's  church,might 
not  now  be  extinguished,  as  it  appears  to  be.  This  afflicted 
people,  therefore,  which,  on  account  of  its  faithful  adherence 
to  the  apostolic  doctrines,  following  the  footsteps  of  the  pri- 
mitive church,  and  the  instructions  of  the  holy  fathers,  has 
been  so  much  hated,  persecuted,  tossed  to  and  fro,  and  even 
forsaken  by  those  of  its  own  household,  and  now  finds  mercy 
from  no  man  ; — this  afflicted  people  lias  nothing  left,  but  to 
cast  itself  upon  the  aid  of  the  eternally  merciful  LORD  Cod, 


Where,  'midst  the  fastnesses  of  rocks  and  glens, 
Banded  like  robbers,  stealing  from  their  dens, 
By  night  they  met,  their  holiest  vows  to  pay, 
As  if  their  deeds  were  dark,  and  shunn'd  the  day; 
While  Christ's  revilers,  in  his  seamless  robe, 
And  parted  garments,  flaunted  round  the  globe ; 
From  east  to  west  while  priestcraft's  banners  flew, 
And  harness'd  kings  his  iron  chariot  drew: 
—  That   Church    advanced    triumphant,    o'er   the 

ground 
Where  all  her  conquering  martyrs  had  been  crown'd, 
Fearless  her  foe's  whole  malice  to  defy, 
And  worship  God  in  liberty,  —  or  die: 
For  truth  and  conscience,  oft  she  pour'd  her  blood, 
And  firmest  in  the  fiercest  conflicts  stood, 
Wresting  from  bigotry  the  proud  control 
Claim'd  o'er  the  sacred  empire  of  the  soul, 
Where  God,  the  Judge  of  all,  should  fill  the  throne, 
And  reign,  as  in  his  universe,  alone.2 

and  with  the  ancient  prophet,  when  his  nation  was  over- 
thrown by  its  enemies,  to  exclaim,  —  'For  these  things  I 
weep ;  mine  eye,  mine  eye  runneth  down  with  water,  because 
the  Comforter  that  should  relieve  my  soul  is  far  from  me.' 
Lam.  i.  16.  —  But  Thou.  0  Lord  God!  who  abidest  for  ever 
and  ever,  and  whose  throne  is  eternal,  why  wilt  Thou  forget 
us,  and  even  forsake  us  in  this  extremity  ?  0  bring  us,  Lord, 
again  to  Thyself,  that  we  may  return  to  our  homes.  Bfinew 
our  days  as  of  old."  In  1649,  Comenius  published  a  history 
of  the  Brethren's  Church,  which  he  dedicated,  as  his  "last 
will  and  testament,"  to  the  Church  of  England,  to  preserve 
for  the  successors  of  the  brethren  in  future  Ages,  as  to  the 
last  hour  of  his  life  he  cherished  the  hope  of  tbeir  revival 
and  establishment  in  peace  and  freedom.  —  This  work  was 
translated  from  the  original  Latin,  and  published  in  London 
in  1661. 

"  Previous  to  the  Reformation,  for  about  fifty  yes  rs,l  be  pri- 
sons in  Bohemia,  and  especially  at  Prague,  were  filled,  from 
time  to  time,  in  consequence  of  special  decrees,  with  mem- 
bers of  the  Brethren's  Church.  Michael,  one  of  their  first 
bishops, waslongunderrigorous  confinement.  Many  perished 
in  deep  dungeons,  with  cold  and  hunger;  others  were  cruelly 
tortured.  The  remainder  wore  obliged  to  seek  refuge  in 
thick  forests,  and  to  bide  themselves  by  day  in  caverna  and 
recesses  among  the  rooks.  Fearing  to  be  betrayed  in  the 
day-time  by  the  smoke,  they  kindled  their  fires  only  at  night, 
around  which  they  employed  tbeir  time  in  reading  the  Scrip- 
tures, an'l  in  prayer.  If  they  were  under  the  necessity  of 
going  out.  in  the  snow,  either  to  seek  provisions  or  to  \i>it 
tbeir  neighbours,  they  always  walked  behind  one  another 
each  in  his  turn  treading  in  the  footsteps  of  the  first,  and  the 
last  dragging  a  piece  of  brushwood  after  him,  to  obliterate 
the  track,  or  to  make  it  appear  as  if  some  poor  peasant  bad 
been  to  the  woods  to  fetch  a  bundle  of  sticks.  With  the  first 
Reformers,  Luther, Calvin,  Zninglius,  Helanchthon,  Bucer, 
anil  Capito,  the  Brethren  held  the  most  friendly  correspond- 
ence, and  by  all  were  acknowledged  to  be  a  true  apostolical 
church.  The  strictness  of  their  church  discipline,  however, 
and  the  difference  which  subsisted  among  these  great  men 
themselves  on  that  general  subject,  as  well  as  the  insulated 


Canto  I. 


GREENLAND. 


107 


'Twas  thus  through  centuries  she  rose  and  fell; 
At  length  victorious  seeni'd  the  gates  of  hell ; 
But  founded  on  a  rock,  which  cannot  move  — 
The'  eternal  rock  of  her  Redeemer's  love  — 
That  Church,  which  Satan's   legions  thought  de- 

stroy'd, 
Her  name  extinct,  her  place  for  ever  void, 
Alive  once  more,  respired  her  native  air, 
But  found  no  freedom  for  the  voice  of  prayer : 
Again  the  cowl'd  oppressor  clank'd  his  chains, 
Flourish'd  his  scourge,  and  threaten'd  bonds   and 

pains, 
(His  arm  enfeebled  could  no  longer  kill, 
But  in  his  heart  he  was  a  murderer  still :) 
Then  Christian  David,  strengthen'd  from  above, 
Wise  as  the  serpent,  harmless  as  the  dove ; 
Bold  as  a  lion  on  his  Master's  part, 
la  zeal  a  seraph,  and  a  child  in  heart; 

locality  of  the  Brethren,  probably  were  the  causes  why  they 
remained  still  totally  distinct  from  any  of  the  new  Christian 
societies  which  were  then  instituted.  After  the  Reformation, 
especially  about  the  beginning  and  till  the  middle  of  the 
sen  enteenth  century,  they  wereexposed  to  the  same  kind  of 
persecutions  and  proscriptionswhich  theirancestors  had  suf- 
fered. After  the  death  of  the  emperor  Rudolph,  in  1012,  the 
resolutions  of  the  Council  of  Trent  were  decreed  to  be  put 
in  force  against  all  Protestants  in  Bohemia.  This  occasioned 
a  civil  war,  like  that  of  the  Hussites.  The  Brethren,  though 
they  are  understood  to  have  taken  very  little  share  in  this 
defence  of  the  truth  by  weapons  of  carnal  warfare,  were 
nevertheless  exposed  to  all  the  vindictive  cruelty  by  which 
the  Protestants  in  Bohemia  were  nearly  extirpated,  after 
their  defeat  by  the  Imperialists, on  theWhite  Mountain,near 
Prague,  in  1620.  On  the  21st  June,  1621,  no  less  than  twenty- 
seven  of  the  Patrons  (Defensores)  of  the  Protestant  cause, 
principally  nobles  and  men  of  distinction,  were  beheaded, 
who  all  died  as  faithful  witnesses  and  martyrs  to  the  religion 
of  Christ.  This  execution  was  followed  by  a  decree  of  ban- 
i-hment  against  all  ministers  of  the  Brethren's  churches  in 
Bohemia  and  Moravia.  Many  hundred  families,  both  noble 
and  plebeian,  fled  into  the  neighbouring  provinces.  Emi- 
gration, however,  was  rendered  as  difficult  as  possible  to  the 
common  people,  who  were  strictly  watched  by  the  emissaries 
of  persecution.  Many  thousands,  notwithstanding,  grad- 
ually made  their  escape,  and  joined  their  ministers  in  exile; 
others,  who  from  age,  infirmity,  or  the  burden  of  large 
families,  could  not  do  the  same,  remained  in  their  country, 
but  were  compelled  to  worship  God,  after  the  manner  of 
their  forefathers,  in  secret  only ;  for  thenceforward  neither 
churches  nor  schools  for  Protestants  were  allowed  to  exist 
in  Bohemia  and  Moravia.  Search  was  made  for  their 
Bibles  and  religious  books,  which  were  burnt  iu  piles,  and 
in  some  places  under  the  gallows. 

1  In  1721  (ninety-four  years  after  the  flight  of  Comenius), 
the  Church  of  the  United  Brethren  was  revived  by  the  per- 
secuted refugees  from  Moravia  (descendants  of  the  old  con- 
fessors of  that  name),  who  were  led  from  time  to  time  by 
Christian  David  (himself  a  Moravian,  but  educated  in  the 
Lutheran  persuasion)  to  settle  on  an  uncultivated  piece  of 


Pluck'd  from  the  gripe  of  antiquated  laws, 
(Even  as  a  mother  from  the  felon  jaws 
Of  a  lean  wolf,  that  bears  her  babe  away, 
With  courage  beyond  nature,  rends  the  prey,) 
The  little  remnant  of  that  ancient  race: 

—  Far  in  Lusatian  woods  they  found  a  place; 
There — where  the  sparrow  builds  her  busy  nest, 
And  the  clime-changing  swallow  loves  to  rest. 
Thine  altar,  Gon  of  Hosts  !  —  there  still  appear 
The  tribes  to  worship,  unassail'd  by  fear ; 

Not  like  their  fathers,  vex'd  from  age  to  age 

By  blatant  Bigotry's  insensate  rage, 

Abroad  in  every  place,  —  in  every  hour 

Awake,  alert,  and  ramping  to  devour. 

No;  peaceful  as  the  spot  where  Jacob  slept, 

And  guard  all  night  the  journeying  angels  kept, 

Herrnhut  yet  stands  amidst  her  shelter'd  bowers ; 

—  The  Lord  hath  set  his  watch  upon  her  towers.1 


land,  on  an  estate  belonging  to  Count  Ziuz.endorf,  in  Lusatia. 
Christian  David,  who  was  a  carpenter,  began  the  work  of 
building  a  church  iu  this  wilderness,  by  striking  his  axe 
into  a  tree,  and  exclaiming,  —  "Here  hath  the  sparrow 
found  an  house,  and  the  swallow  a  nest  for  herself;  even 
thine  altars,  0  Lord  God  of  Hosts!"  They  named  the  set- 
tlement Herrnhut,  or  The  Lord's  Watch. 

After  the  lapse  of  nearly  a  century,  during  which  the  re- 
fugees of  the  Brethren's  churches,  in  Saxony,  Poland,  and 
Prussia,  were  nearly  lost  among  the  people  with  w  horn  they 
associated.and  the  small  remnant  that  continued  in  Moravia 
kept  up  the  fire  on  their  familyaltars, while  in  their  churches 
it  was  utterly  extinct,  a  new  persecution  against  this  small 
remnant  drove  many  of  them  from  their  homes,  who,  under 
the  conduct  of  Christian  David,  finding  an  asylum  on  the 
estates  of  Count  Zinzendorf,  founded  near  Bertholsdorf  the 
first  congregation  of  the  revived  church  of  the  United  Bre- 
thren. On  the  8th  of  June,  1722,  Christian  David,  with  four 
of  the  first  fugitives  that  arrived  in  Lusatia,  were  presented 
toCountZinzendorf's  graudmother,who  instantlygave  them 
protection,  and  promised  to  furnish  them  with  the  means  of 
establishing  themselves  on  one  of  her  family  estates.  Count 
Zinzendorf  himself  gives  the  following  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstancesunderwhich  he  fixed  upon  the  situation  for  these 
settlers.  He  proposed  a  district  called  the  Hutberg,  near 
the  high  road  to  Zittau.  It  was  objected,  by  some  who  knew 
theplace,thattherewasnowaterthere:  he  answered,  "God 
is  able  to  help !"  and  the  following  morning  early  he  repaired 
thither  to  observe  the  rising  of  the  vapours,  that  he  might 
determine  where  a  well  might  be  dug.  The  next,  morning 
he  again  visited  the  place  alone,  and  satisfied  himself  of  its 
eligibility  for  a  settlement.  He  adds,  "  I  laid  the  misery  and 
desire  of  these  people  before  God  with  many  tears;  beseech- 
ing Him,  that  his  hand  might  he  with  me  and  frustrate  my 
measures  if  they  were  in  any  way  displeasing  to  Him.  I 
said  further  to  the  Lord.  —  'Upon  this  spot  I  will,  in  Thy 
name,  build  the  first  bouse  for  them.'  In  the  mean  time 
the  Moravians  returned  to  the  farm-house  (where  they 
had  been  previously  lodged),  having  brought  their  families 
thither  out  of  their  native  country.  These  I  assisted  to 
the  best  of  my  power,  and  then  went  to  Hennersdorf  to 


108 


GREENLAND. 


Caxto  I. 


Soon,  homes  of  humble  form,  and  structure  rude, 
Raised  sweet  society  in  solitude  : 
And  the  lorn  traveller  there,  at  fall  of  night, 
Could  trace  from  distant  hills  the  spangled  light 
Which  now  from  many  a  cottage  window  stream'd, 
Or  in  full  glory  round  the  chapel  beam'd ; 
While  hymning  voices,  in  the  silent  shade, 
Music  of  all  his  soul's  affections  made  ; 
Where  through  the  trackless  wilderness,  erewhile, 
No  hospitable  ray  was  known  to  smile,— 
Or  if  a  sudden  splendour  kindled  joy, 
'Twas  but  a  meteor  dazzling  to  destroy : 
While  the  wood  echoed  to  the  hollow  owl, 
The  fox's  cry,  or  wolf's  lugubrious  howl. 

Unwearied  as  the  camel,  day  by  day, 
Tracks  through  unwater'd  wilds  his  doleful  way, 
Yet  in  his  breast  a  cherish'd  draught  retains, 
To  cool  the  fervid  current  in  his  veins, 
While  from  the  sun's  meridian  realms  he  brings 
The  gold  and  gems  of  Ethiopian  kings  : 
So  Christian  David,  spending  yet  unspent, 
On  many  a  pilgrimage  of  mercy  went ;         [sought, 
Through   all   their   haunts   his   suffering  brethren 
And  safely  to  that  land  of  promise  brought; 
While  in  his  bosom,  on  the  toilsome  road, 
A  secret  well  of  consolation  flow'd, 
Fed  from  the  fountain  near  the'  eternal  throne, 
—  Bliss  to  the  world  unyielded  and  unknown. 

In  stillness  thus  the  little  Zion  rose  : 
But  scarcely  found  those  fugitives  repose, 
Ere  to  the  west  with  pitying  eyes  they  turn'd; 
Their  love  to  Christ  beyond  the'  Atlantic  burn'd. 
Forth  sped  their  messengers,  content  to  be 
Captives  themselves,  to  cheer  captivity; 
Soothe  the  poor  Negro  with  fraternal  smiles, 
And  preach  deliverance  in  those  prison-isles 


Where  man's  most  hateful  forms  of  being  meet, 
—  The  tyrant,  and  the  slave  that  licks  his  feet. 

O'er  Greenland  nest  two  youths  in  secret  wept : 
And  where  the  sabbath  of  the  dead  was  kept, 
With  pious  forethought,  while  their  hands  prepare 
Beds  which  the  living  and  unborn  shall  share, 
(For  man  so  surely  to  the  dust  is  brought, 
His  grave  before  his  cradle  may  be  wrought,) 
They  told  their  purpose,  each  o'erjoy'd  to  find 
His  own  idea  in  his  brother's  mind. 
For  counsel  in  simplicity  they  pray'd, 
And  vows  of  ardent  consecration  made  : 
—Vows  heard  in  heaven  ;  from  that  accepted  hour, 
Their  souls  were  clothed  with  confidence  and  power,11 
Nor  hope  deferr'd  could  quell  their  hearts'  desire; 
The  bush  once  kindled  grew  amidst  the  fire : 
But  ere  its  shoots  a  tree  of  life  became, 
Congenial  spirits  caught  the'  electric  flame ; 
And  for  that  holy  service,  young  and  old 
Their  plighted  faith  and  willing  names  enroll'd; 
Eager  to  change  the  rest,  so  lately  found, 
For  life-long  labours  on  barbarian  ground; 
To  break,  through  barriers  of  eternal  ice, 
A  vista  to  the  gates  of  Paradise, 
And  light  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  pole 
The  tenfold  darkness  of  the  human  soul : 
To  man,  —  a  task  more  hopeless  than  to  bless 
With  Indian  fruits  that  arctic  wilderness ; 
With  Gor>,  —  as  possible  when  unbegun 
As  though  the  destined  miracle  were  done. 

Three  chosen  candidates  at  length  went  forth, 
Heralds  of  mercy  to  the  frozen  north ; 
Like  mariners  with  scal'd  instructions  sent, 
They  went  in  faith,  (as  childless  Abram  went 
To  dwell,  by  sufferance,  in  a  land  decreed 
The  future  birthright  of  his  promised  seed,) 


acquaint  mv  lady  [his  grandmother  aforementioned]  with 
the  resolution  I  had  taken.  She  made  no  objection,  and 
immediately  sent  the  poor  strangers  a  cow.  that  they  might 
he  furnished  with  milk  for  their  little  children;  and  she 
ordered  me  to  show  them  the  trees  to  be  cut  down  for  their 
building." 

i  In  1732,  when  the  congregation  at  Herrnhut  consisted  ot 
about  six  hundred  persons,  including  children,  the  first  two 
missionaries  sailed  for  the  Danish  island  of  St.  Thomas,  to 
preach  the  Gospel  to  the  negroes:  and  such  was  their  devo- 
tion to  the  good  work,  that,  being  told  that  they  could  not 
have  interoourseotherwisewith  the  objects  oftheirCbristlan 
compassion,  they  determined  to  sell  themselves  for  slaves  on 
their  arrival,  and  work  with  the  blacks  in  the  plantations. 


But  this  sacrifice  was  not  required.  Many  thousand  negroes 
have  since  been  truly  converted  in  the  West  Indies. 
"-  Matthew  Starh  and  Frederick  Boenisch,  two  young  men, 
I  work  together,  preparing  a  piece  of  ground  fir  a 
burial-place  at  Herrnhut.  disclosed  to  each  other  their  dis- 
tinct desires  to  offer  themselves  to  the  congregation  as  mis- 
•nonaries  to  Greenland.  They  therefore  became  joint  candi- 
dates.  Considerable  delay,  however,  occurred ;  and  when  it 
was  at  length  determined  to  attempt  the  preaching 
Gospel  I there,  Frederick  Boenisch  be  in  g  on  a  distant  journey, 
Christian  David  was  appointed  to  conduct  thither  Matthew 
Staeh  and  his  cousin.  Christian  Stach,  who  sailed  from 
Copenhagen  on  the  10th  of  April.  1733.  and  landed  in  Ball's 
Hirer  on  the  20th  of  May  following. 


Canto  II. 


GREENLAND. 


100 


Unknowing  whither  j  —  uninquiring  why 

Their  lot  was  cast  beneath  so  strange  a  sky, 
Where  cloud  nor  star  appear'd,  to  mortal  sense 
Pointing  the  hidden  path  of  Providence, 
And  all  around  was  darkness  to  bo  felt; 

—  Yet  in  that  darkness  light  eternal  dwelt: 

They  knew — and  'twas  enough  for  them  to  know  — 
The  still  small  voice  that  whisper'd  them  to  go ; 
For  lie,  who  spake  by  that  mysterious  voice, 
Inspired  their  will,  and  made  His  call  their  choice. 

See  tho  swift  vessel,  bounding  o'er  the  tide, 
That  wafts,  with  Christian  David  for  their  guide, 
Two  young  Apostles  on  their  joyful  way 
To  regions  in  the  twilight  verge  of  day  : 
Freely  they  quit  the  clime  that  gave  them  birth, 
Home,  kindred,  friendship,  all  they  loved  on  earth; 
What  things  were  gain  before,  accounting  loss, 
And,  glorying  in  the  shame,  they  bear  the  cross; 

—  Not  as  the  Spaniard,  on  his  flag  unfurl'd, 
A  bloody  omen  through  a  Pagan  world; 

—  Not  the  vain  image,  which  the  Devotee 
Clasps  as  the  God  of  his  idolatry  ;  — 

But  in  their  hearts,  to  Greenland's  western  shore, 
That  dear  memorial  of  their  Loud  they  bore; 
Amidst  the  wilderness  to  lift  the  sign 
Of  wrath  appeased  by  Sacrifice  Divine ; 
And  bid  a  serpent-stung  and  dying  race 
Look  on  their  Healer,  and  be  saved  by  grace. 


CANTO    SECOND. 

Hopes  and  Fears.     The  Brethren  pursue  their  Voyage. 
A  Digression  on  Iceland. 

What  are  thine  hopes,  Humanity  !  —  thy  fears, 

Poor  voyager,  upon  this  flood  of  years, 

Whose  tide,  unturning,  hurries  to  the  sea 

Of  dark  unsearchable  eternity, 

The  fragile  skiffs,  in  which  thy  children  sail 

A  day,  an  hour,  a  moment,  with  the  gale, 

Then  vanish  ;  —  gone  like  eagles  on  the  wind, 

Or  fish  in  waves,  that  j-ield  and  close  behind? 

Thine  Hopes, —  lost  anchors  buried  in  the  deep, 

That  rust,  through  storm  and  calm,  in  iron  sleep  ; 

Whose  cables,  loose  aloft  and  fix'd  below, 

Rot  with  the  sea-weed,  floating  to  and  fro ! 

Thy  fears  —  are  wrecks  that  strew  the  fatal  surge, 

Whose  whirlpools  swallow,  or  whose  currents  urge, 


Adventurous  barks  on  rocks,  that  lurk  at  rest, 
Where  the  blue  halcyon  builds  her  foam-light  nest ; 
Or  strand  them  on  illumined  shoals,  that  gleam 
Like  drifted  gold  in  summer's  cloudless  beam: 
Thus  would  thy  race,  beneath  their  parent's  eye, 
Live  without  knowledge,  without  prospect  die. 

But  when  Religion  bids  her  spirit  breathe, 
And  opens  bliss  above  and  woe  beneath ; 
When  God  reveals  bis  march  through  Nature's  night, 
His  steps  are  beauty,  and  his  presence  light, 
His  voice  is  life:  —  tho  dead  in  conscience  start; 
They  feel  a  new  creation  in  the  heart. 
Ah  !  then,  Humanity,  thy  hopes,  thy  fears, 
How  changed,  how  wondrous!  —  On   this   tide  of 

years, 
Though  the  frail  barks,  in  which  thine  offspring  sail 
Their  day,  their  hour,  their  moment  with  the  gale, 
Must  perish;. —  shipwreck  only  sets  them  free; 
With  joys  unmeasured  as  eternity, 
They  ply  on  seas  of  glass  their  golden  oars, 
And  pluck  immortal  fruits  along  the  shores ; 
Nor  shall  their  cables  fail,  their  anchors  rust, 
Who  wait  the  resurrection  of  the  just: 
Moor'd  on  tho  Rock  of  Ages,  though  decay 
Moulder  the  weak  terrestrial  frame  away, 
The  trumpet  sounds, —  and  lo!  wherever  spread, 
Earth,  air,  and  ocean  render  back  their  dead; 
And  souls  with  bodies,  spiritual  and  divine, 
In  the  new  heavens,  like  stars  for  ever  shine. 
These  are  thine  Hopes:  —  thy  Fears  what  tongue 

can  tell  ? 
Behold  them  graven  on  the  gates  of  Hell : 
"  The  wrath  of  God  abidcth  here  :  His  breath 
Kindled  the  flames :  —  this  is  the  second  death." 
'Twas  Mercy  wrote  tho  lines  of  judgment  there  ; 
None  who  from  earth  can  read  them  may  despair ! 
Man  ! — let  the  warning  strike  presumption  dumb; — 
Awake!  arise  !  escape  the  wrath  to  come! 
No  resurrection  from  that  grave  shall  be; 
The  worm  within,  is  —  immortality. 

The  terrors  of  Jehovah,  and  his  grace, 
The  Brethren  bear  to  earth's  remotest  race. 
And  now,  exulting  on  their  swift  career, 
The  northern  waters  narrowing  in  the  rear, 
They  rise  upon  tho'  Atlantic  flood,  that  rolls 
Shoreless  and  fathomless  between  the  poles, 
Whose  waves  the  east  and  western  world  divide, 
Then  gird  the  globe  with  one  circumfluent  tide; 


110 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  II. 


For  mighty  Ocean,  by  whatever  name 
Known  to  vain  man,  is  every  where  the  same, 
And  deems  all  regions  by  his  gulfs  embraced 
But  vassal  tenures  of  his  sovereign  waste. 
Clear  shines  the  sun ;  the  surge,  intensely  blue, 
Assumes  by  day  Heaven's  own  aerial  hue  : 
Buoyant  and  beautiful,  as  through  a  sky, 
On  balanced  wings,  behold  the  vessel  fly; 
Invisibly  impell'd,  as  though  it  felt 
A  soul,  within  its  heart  of  oak  that  dwelt, 
Which  broke  the  billows  with  spontaneous  force, 
Ruled  the  free  elements,  and  chose  its  course. 
Not  so  :  —  and  yet,  along  the  trackless  realm, 
A  hand  unseen  directs  the'  unconscious  helm ; 
The  power  that  sojourn'd  in  the  cloud  by  day, 
And  fire  by  night,  on  Israel's  desert  way ; 
That  Power  the  obedient  vessel  owns:  —  His  will, 
Tempest  and  calm,  and  death  and  life,  fulfil. 

Day  following  day  the  current  smoothly  flows; 
Labour  is  but  refreshment  from  repose; 
Perils  are  vanish'd;  every  fear  resign'd; 
Peace    walks    the    waves,    Hope    carols    on     the 

wind; 
And  Time  so  sweetly  travels  o'er  the  deep, 
They  feel  his  motion  like  the  fall  of  sleep 
On  weary  limbs,  that,  stretch'd  in  stillness,  seem 
To  float  upon  the  eddy  of  a  stream, 
Then  sink, — to  wake  in  some  transporting  dream. 
Thus,  while  the  Brethren  far  in  exile  roam, 
Visions  of  Greenland  show  their  future  home. 

—  Now  a  dark  speck,  but  brightening  as  it  flies, 
A  vagrant  sea-fowl  glads  their  eager  eyes : 
How  lovely  from  the  narrow  deck  to  see 

The  meanest  link  of  nature's  family, 
Which  makes  us  feel,  in  dreariest  solitude, 
Affinity  with  all  that  breathe  renew'd  : 
At  once  a  thousand  kind  emotions  start, 
And    the    blood  warms   and    mantles   round   the 
heart ! 

—  O'er  the  ship's  lee,  the  waves,  in  shadow  seen, 
Change  from  deep  indigo  to  beryl  green, 

i  The  most  horrible  of  fabulous  sea-monsters  is  the 
kraken  or  hafgufa,  which  many  of  the  Norway  fishers  pre- 
tend to  have  seen  in  part,  but  none  entire.  They  say,  that 
when  they  find  a  place  which  is  at  one  time  eighty  or  one 
hundred  fathoms  deep,  and  at  another  only  twenty  or 
thirty,  and  also  observe  a  multitude  of  fishes,  allured  by  a 
delicious  exhalation  which  the  kraken  emits,  they  conclude 
that  there  is  one  below  them.  They  therefore  hasten  i" 
secure  a  large  draught  of  the  fry  around  them;  but  as  soon 


And  wreathes  of  frequent  weed,  that  slowly  float, 

Land  to  the  watchful  mariner  denote : 

Ere   long    the    pulse   beats    quicker   through    his 

breast, 
When,  like  a  range  of  evening  clouds  at  rest, 
Iceland's  grey  cliffs  and  ragged  coast  he  sees, 
But  shuns  them,  leaning  on  the  southern  breeze ; 
And,  while  they  vanish  far  in  distance,  tells 
Of  lakes  of  fire  and  necromancers'  spells. 

Strange  Isle !  a  moment  to  poetic  gaze 
Rise  in  thy  majesty  of  rocks  and  bays, 
Glens,  fountains,  caves   that   seem    not   things   of 

earth, 
But  in  the  wild  shapes  of  some  prodigious  birth; 
As  if  the  kraken  monarch  of  the  sea, 
Wallowing  abroad  in  his  immensity, 
By  polar  storms  and  lightning  shafts  assail'd, 
Wedged  with  ice-mountains,  here  had  fought  and 

fail'd ; 
Perish'd  —  and,  in  the  petrifying  blast, 
His  hulk  became  an  island  rooted  fast;1 
—  Rather,  from  Ocean's  dark  foundations  hurl'd, 
Thou  art  a  type  of  his  mysterious  world, 
Buoy'd  on  the  desolate  abyss,  to  show 
What  wonders  of  creation  hide  below. 

Here  Hecla's  triple  peaks,  with  meteor  lights, 
Nature's  own  beacons,  cheer  hybernal  nights : 
But  when  the  orient  flames  in  red  array, 
Like  ghosts  the  spectral  splendours  flee  the  day ; 
Morn  at  her  feet  beholds  supinely  spread 
The  carcass  of  the  old  Chimera  dead, 
That  wont  to  vomit  flames  and  molten  ore, 
Now  cleft  asunder  to  the  inmost  core  ; 
In    smouldering  heaps,  wide   wrecks   and   cinders 

strown, 
Lie  like  the  walls  of  Sodom  overthrown, 
(Ere  from  the  face  of  blushing  Nature  swept, 
And  where  the  city  stood  the  Dead  Sea  slept;) 
While  inaccessible,  tradition  feigns, 
To  human  foot  the  guarded  top  remains, 

as  they  perceive  the  soundings  to  grow  shallower,  they  scud 
away,  and  from  a  safe  distance  behold  him  rising  in  a  chain 
of  ridges  and  spires,  that  thicken  as  they  emerge,  till  they 
resemble  the  masts  of  innumerable  vessels  moored  on  a 
rooky  coast.  He  then  riots  upon  the  fish  that  have  been 
stranded  and  entangled  in  the  forest  of  spikes  upon  his 
back,  and  having  satiated  bis  hunger,  plunges  into  the 
depths  with  a  violent  agitation  of  the  waters. —  See  Crantis 
Greenland. 


Can-to  II. 


GREENLAND. 


Ill 


Where  birds  of  hideous  shape  and  doleful  note 
Fate's  ministers,  in  livid  vapours  float.1 

Far  off,  amidst  the  placid  sunshine,  glow- 
Mountains  with  hearts  of  fire,  and  crests  of  snow, 
Whose  blaeken'd  slopes  with  deep  ravines  entrench'd, 
Their    thunders     silenced,    and     their     lightnings 

quench'd, 
Still  the  slow  heat  of  spent  eruptions  breathe, 
While  embryo  earthquakes  swell  their  wombs  be- 
neath. 

Hark  !  from  yon  caldron  cave,  the  battle-sound 
Of  fire  and  water  warring  under  ground : 
Rack'd  on  the  wheels  of  an  ebullient  tide, 
Here  might  some  spirit,  fall'n  from  bliss,  abide, — 
Such  fitful  wailings  of  intense  despair, 
Such  emanating  splendours,  fill  the  air.a 
— He  comes,  he  eomes  ;  the'  infuriate  Geyser  springs 
Up  to  the  firmament  on  vapoury  wings ; 
With  breathless  awe  the  mounting  glory  view ; 
White  whirling  clouds  his  steep  ascent  pursue. 
But  lo  !  a  glimpse  ;  —  refulgent  to  the  gale, 
Jle  starts  all  naked  through  his  riven  veil; 
A  fountain-column,  terrible  and  bright, 
A  living,  breathing,  moving  form  of  light : 
From  central  earth  to  heaven's  meridian  thrown, 
The  mighty  apparition  towers  alone, 
Rising,  as  though  for  ever  he  could  rise, 
Storm  and  resume  his  palace  in  the  skies, 
All  foam,  and  turbulence,  and  wrath  below; 
Around  him  beams  the  reconciling  bow; 
(Signal  of  peace,  whose  radiant  girdle  binds, 
Till  nature's  doom,  the  waters  and  the  winds;) 
While  mist  and  spray,  condensed  to  sudden  dews, 
The  air  illumine  with  celestial  hues, 
As  if  the  bounteous  sun  were  raining  down 
The  richest  gems  of  his  imperial  crown. 
In  vain  the  spirit  wrestles  to  break  free, 
Foot-bound  to  fathomless  captivity ; 


1  Hecla  is  now  the  ruins  of  a  volcano.  The  three  peaks 
are  said  to  be  haunted  by  evil  spirits  in  the  shape  of  birds. 
The  island  abounds  with  volcanic  mountains. 

a  The  Geysers,  or  boiling  fountains,  of  Iceland,  have 
been  so  frequently  and  so  happily  described,  that  their 
phenomena  are  sufficiently  familiar  to  general  readers  not 
to  require  any  particular  illustration  here.  The  Great 
Geysor,  according  to  Dr.  Henderson  (the  latest  traveller  who 
ha«  published  an  account  of  Iceland),  is  seventy-eight  foet 
in  perpendicular  depth,  and  from  eight  to  ten  feet  in  diam- 
ter;  the  mouth  is  a  considerable  basin,  from  which  the 


A  power  unseen,  by  sympathetic  spell 

For  ever  working,  to  his  flinty  cell 

Recalls  him  from  the  ramparts  of  the  spheres  ; 

He  yields,  collapses,  lessens,  disappears  ; 

Darkness  receives  him  in  her  vague  abyss, 

Around  whose  verge  light  froth  and  bubbles  hiss, 

While  the  low  murmurs  of  the  refluent  tide 

Far  into  subterranean  silence  glide, 

The  eye  still  gazing  down  the  dread  profound, 

When  the  bent  ear  hath  wholly  lost  the  sound. 

—  But  is  he  slain  and  sepulchred?  —  Again 
The  deathless  giant  sallies  from  his  den, 

Scales  with  recruited  strength  the  ethereal  walls, 
Struggles  afresh  for  liberty  —  and  falls. 
Yes,  and  for  liberty  the  fight  renew'd, 
By  day,  by  night,  undaunted,  unsubdued, 
He  shall  maintain,  till  Iceland's  solid  base 
Fail,  and  the  mountains  vanish  from  its  face. 

And   can   these    fail?  —  Of  Alpine   height    and 
mould 
Schapta's  unshaken  battlements  behold ; 
His  throne  an  hundred  hills  ;  his  sun-crown'd  head 
Resting  on  clouds ;  his  robe  of  shadow  spread 
O'er  half  the  isle ;  he  pours  from  either  hand 
An  unexhausted  river  through  the  land, 
On  whose   fair  banks,  through  valleys  warm   and 

green, 
Cattle  and  flocks,  and  homes  and  spires,  are  seen. 
Here  Nature's  earthquake-pangs  were  never  felt; 
Here  in  repose  hath  man  for  ages  dwelt : 
The  everlasting  mountain  seems  to  say, 
"  I  am, —  and  I  shall  never  pass  away." 

Yet  fifty  winters,  and,  with  huge  uproar, 
Thy  pride  shall  perish  ;  —  thou  shalt  be  no  more ! 
Amidst  chaotic  ruins  on  the  plain, 
Those  cliffs,  these  waters,  shall  be  sought  in  vain  !3 

—  Through  the  dim  vista  of  unfolding  years, 
A  pageant  of  portentous  woe  appears. 

column  of  boiling  water  is  ejaculated  to  various  heights: 
sometimes  exceeding  one  hundred  feet. 

3  This  imaginary  prophecy  (1733)  was  fulfilled  just  fifty 
years  afterwards,  in  17S3.  The  Sc/iapta,  Schaptka,  or  Ska/ 
tar  Tokld,  and  its  adjacencies,  were  the  subjects  of  the  most 
tremendous  volcanic  devastation  on  record.  Two  rivers 
were  sunk  or  evaporated,  and  their  channels  filled  up  with 
lava;  many  villages  were  utterly  destroyed;  and  one 
fourth  part  of  the  island  rendered  nearly  uninhabitable. 
Fam  ine  and  pestilence  followed. 


112 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  II. 


Yon  rosy  groups,  with  golden  locks,  at  play, 

I  .see  them, —  few,  decrepit,  silent,  gray; 

Their  fathers  all  at  rest  beneath  the  sod, 

Whose  ilowerless  verdure  marks  the  House  of  God, 

Home  of  the  living  and  the  dead; — where  meet 

Kindred  and  strangers,  in  communion  sweet, 

When  dawns  the  Sabbath  on  the  block-built  pile; 

The  kiss  of  peace,  the  welcome,  and  the  smile 

Go  round  ;  till  comes  the  Priest,  a  father  there, 

And  the  bell  knolls  his  family  to  prayer : 

Angels  might  stoop  from  thrones  in  heaven,  to  be 

Co-worshippers  in  such  a  family, 

Whom  from   their  nooks  and  dells,  where'er  they 

roam, 
The  Sabbath  gathers  to  their  common  home. 
Oh  !  I  would  stand  a  keeper  at  this  gate 
Rather  than  reign  with  kings  in  guilty  state; 
A  day  in  such  serene  enjoyment  spent 
Were  worth  an  age  of  splendid  discontent! 
—  Cut  whither  am  I  hurried  from  my  theme  ? 
Schapta  returns  on  the  prophetic  dream. 

From  eve  till  morn   strange  meteors  streak  the 

pole ; 
At  cloudless  noon  mysterious  thunders  roll, 
As  if  below  both  shore  and  ocean  hurl'd 
From  deep  convulsions  of  the  nether  world : 
Anon  the  river,  boiling  from  its  bed, 
Shall    leap    its    bounds    and    o'er    the    lowlands 

spread, 
Then  waste  in  exhalation, —  leaving  void 
As  its  own  channel,  utterly  destroy'd, 
Fields,  gardens,  dwellings,  churches,  and  their  graves, 
All  wreck'd  or  disappearing  with  the  waves. 
The  fugitives  that  'scape  this  instant  death 
Inhale  slow  pestilence  with  every  breath : 
Mepbitic  steams  from  Schapta's  mouldering  breast 
With  livid  horror  shall  the  air  infest; 
Ami  day  shall  glare  so  foully  on  the  sight, 
Darkness  were  refuge  from  the  curse  of  light. 
Lo !  far  among  the  glaciers,  wrapt  in  gloom, 
The  red  precursors  of  approaching  doom, 
Scatter'd  and  solitary  founts  of  fire, 
Dnloek'd  by  hands  invisible,  aspire  : 
Ere  long,  more  rapidly  than  eye  can  count, 
Above,  beneath,  they  multiply,  they  mount, 
Converge,  condense, —  a  crimson  phalanx  form, 
And  rage  aloft  in  one  unbounded  storm  ; 
From  heaven's  red  roof  the  fierce  reflections  throw 
A  sea  of  fluctuating  light  below. 


—  Now  the  whole  army  of  destroyers,  fleet 
As  whirlwinds,  terrible  as  lightnings,  meet; 
The  mountains  melt  like  wax  along  their  course, 
When,  downward  pouring  with  resistless  force 
Through  the  void  channel  where  the  river  roll'd, 
To  ocean's  verge  their  flaming  march  they  hold ; 
While  blocks  of  ice,  and  crags  of  granite  rent, 
Half-fluid  ore,  and  rugged  minerals  blent, 
Float  on  the  gulf,  till  molten  or  immersed, 
Or  in  explosive  thunderbolts  dispersed. 
Thus  shall  the  Schapta,  towering  on  the  brink 
Of  unknown  jeopard}',  in  ruin,  sink; 
And,  this  wild  paroxysm  of  frenzy  past, 
At  her  own  work  shall  Nature  stand  aghast. 

Look  on  this  desolation  :  —  mark  yon  brow, 
Once  adamant,  a  cone  of  ashes  now  : 
Here  rivers  swampt:  there  valleys  levell'd,  plains 
O'erwhelmn'd; — one  black-red  wilderness  remains, 
One  crust  of  lava,  through  whose  cinder-heat 
The  pulse  of  buried  streams  is  felt  to  beat; 
These  from  the  frequent  fissures,  eddying  white, 
Sublimed  to  vapour,  issue  forth  like  light 
Amidst  the  sulphury  fumes,  that,  drear  and  dun, 
Poison  the  atmosphere  and  blind  the  sun. 
Above,  as  if  the  sky  had  felt  the  stroke 
Of  that  volcano,  and  consumed  to  smoke, 
One  cloud  appears  in  heaven,  and  one  alone, 
Hung  round  the  dark  horizon's  craggy  zone, 
Forming  at  once  the  vast  encircling  wall, 
And  the  dense  roof,  of  some  Tartarean  hall, 
Propt  by  a  thousand  pillars,  huge  and  strange, 
Fantastic  forms  that  every  moment  change, 
As,  hissing,  surging  from  the  floor  beneath, 
Volumes  of  steam,  the'  imprison'd  waters  breathe. 
Then,  should  the  sun,  ere  evening  gloom  ascend, 
Quick  from  the  west  the  murky  curtain  rend, 
And  pour  the  beauty  of  his  beams  between 
These  hideous  arches,  and  light  up  the  scene; 
At  the  sweet  touch  of  his  transforming  rays, 
With  amber  lustre  all  the  columns  blaze, 
And  the  thick  folds  of  cumbrous  fog  aloof 
Change  to  rich  drapery  of  celestial  woof: 
With     such     enchantment    air    and    earth    were 

fraught, 
Beyond  the  colouring  of  the  wealthiest  thought 
That  Iceland  scalds,  transported  at  the  view, 
Might  deem  the  legends  of  their  fathers  true, 
And  here  behold,  illumining  the  waste, 
The  palace  of  immortal  Odin  placed; 


Canto  III. 


GREENLAND. 


113 


Till  rapt  Imagination  joy'd  to  hear 

The  neigh  of  steeds,  the  clank  of  armour  near, 

And  saw,  in  barbarous  state,  the  tables  spread 

With  shadowy  food,  and  eompass'd  with  the  dead, 

Weary  from  conflicts,  —  still  the  fierce  delight 

Of  spectre-warriors,  in  the  daily  fight: 

Then  while  they  quaff'd  the  mead  from  skulls  of 

foes, 
By  whirlwind  gusts  the  din  of  battle  rose; 
The  strife  of  tongues,  the  tournament  of  words, 
Following    the    shock    of    shields,    the    clash    of 

swords ; 
Till,  gorged  and  drunken  at  the'  enormous  feast, 
Awhile  their  revels  and  their  clamours  ceased ; 
Ceased  to  the  eye  and  ear  ;  —  yet  where  they  lay, 
Like  sleeping  lions,  surfeited  with  prey, 
In  tawny  groups,  recumbent  through  the  den, 
In  dreams  the  heroes  drank  and  fought  again. 

Away  with  such  Divinities  !  their  birth 
Man's  brain-sick  superstition,  and  their  mirth 
Lust,  rapine,  cruelty ;  —  their  fell  employ 
God's  works  and  their  own  votaries  to  destroy. 

—  The  Runic  Bard  to  nobler  themes  shall  string 
His  ancient  harp,  and  mightier  triumphs  sing; 
For  glorious  days  are  risen  on  Iceland :  —  clear 
The  Gospel-trumpet  sounds  to  every  ear, 

And  deep  in  many  a  heart  the  Spirit's  voice 
Bids  the  believing  soul  in  hope  rejoice. 
O'er  the  stern  face  of  this  tempestuous  isle, 
Though  briefly  Spring,  and  Autumn  never,  smile, 
Truth    walks    with     naked    foot    the    unyielding 

snows, 
And  the  glad  desert  blossoms  like  the  rose. 
Though  earthquakes  heave,  though  torrents  drown, 

his  cot, 
Volcanoes  waste  his  fields, —  the  peasant's  lot 
Is  blest  beyond  the  destiny  of  kings : 

—  Lifting  his  eyes  above  sublunar  things, 
Like  dying  Stephen,  when  he  saw  in  prayer 
Heaven  open'd,  and  his  Saviour  beckoning  there, 
He  cries,  and  clasps  his  Bible  to  his  breast, 
"Let  the  earth  perish,  —  here  is  not  my  rest."1 

1  One  of  the  finest  specimens  of  Icelandic  poetry  extant 
is  said  to  be  the  "Ode  to  the  British  and  Foreign  Bible 
Society,"  composed  by  the  Rev.  John  Thorlakson,  of  Boegisa, 
the  translator  of  Milton's  •'  Paradise  Lost"  into  his  native 
tongue.  Of  this  Ode  there  is  a  Latin  translation  by  the 
learned  Iceland  Professor,  Finn  Magnusson.  A  spirited 
English  version  has  also  appeared.  Thorlakson  is  a 
venerable  old  man,  and  holds  church  preferment  to  the 
8 


CANTO    THIRD. 

The  Voyage  to  Greenland  concluded.  A  Fog  at 
Sea.  Ice-Fields.  Eclipse  of  the  Sun.  The 
Greenland  Fable  of  Malina  and  Aninga.  A 
Storm.  The  Ice-Blink.  Northern  Lights.  The 
Brethren  land. 

How  speed  the  faithful  witnesses,  who  bore 

The  Bible  and  its  hopes  to  Greenland's  shore? 

—  Like  Noah's  ark,  alone  upon  the  wave, 

(Of  one  lost  world  the'  immeasurable  grave,) 

Yonder  the  ship,  a  solitary  speck, 

Comes  bounding  from  the  horizon ;  while  on  deck 

Again  Imagination  rests  her  wing, 

And  smooths  her  pinions,  while  the  Pilgrims  sing 

Their  vesper  oraisons.     The  Sun  retires, — 

Not  as  he  wont,  with  clear  and  golden  fires; 

Bewilder'd  in  a  labyrinth  of  haze, 

His  orb  redoubled,  with  discolour'd  rays, 

Struggles  and  vanishes;  —  along  the  deep, 

With  slow  array,  expanding  vapours  creep, 

Whose  folds,  in  twilight's  yellow  glare  uncurl'd, 

Present  the  dreams  of  an  unreal  world ; 

Islands  in  air  suspended;  marching  ghosts 

Of  armies,  shapes  of  castles,  winding  coasts, 

Navies  at  anchor,  mountains,  woods,  and  streams, 

AVhere  all  is  strange,  and  nothing  what  it  seems; 

Till  deep-involving  gloom,  without  a  spark 

Of  star,  moon,  meteor,  desolately  dark, 

Seals  up  the  vision  :• — then,  the  pilot's  fears 

Slacken  his  arm ;  a  doubtful  course  he  steers, 

Till  morning  comes,  but  comes  not  clad  in  light : 

Uprisen  day  is  but  a  paler  night, 

Revealing  not  a  glimpse  of  sea  or  sky; 

The  ship's  circumference  bounds  the  sailor's  eye. 

So  cold  and  dense  the'  impervious  fog  extends, 

He  might  have  touch'd  the  point  where  being  ends  ; 

His  bark  is  all  the  universe;  so  void 

The  scene,  —  as  though  creation  were  destroy'd, 

And  he  and  his  few  mates,  of  all  their  race, 

Were  here  becalm'd  in  everlasting  space.* 

amount  of  six  pounds  five  shillings  per  annum,  out  of 
which  he  allows  a  stipend  to  a  curate. 

''  The  incidents  described  in  this  canto  are  founded  upon 
the  real  events  of  the  voyage  of  the  Missionaries,  as  given 
in  Crantz's  History. 

Crantz  says, — "On  the  10th  of  April  the  Brethren  went 
on  board  the  king's  ship  Caritas.  Captain  Hildebrande,  ac- 
companied with  many  sincere  wishes  for  blessing  from  the 


114 


G  R  E  E  X  L  A  H  D . 


Canto  III. 


Silent  and  motionless,  above,  below, 

The  sails  all  struck,  the  waves  unheard  to  flow, 

In  this  drear  blank  of  utter  solitude, 

Where  life  stands  still,  no  faithless  fears  intrude ; 

Through  that  impervious  veil  the  Brethren  see 

The  face  of  omnipresent  Deity  : 

Nor  Him  alone  ;  —  whate'er  His  hand  hath  made; 

His  glory  in  the  firmament  display'd; 

The  sun,  majestic  in  his  course,  and  sole ; 

The  moon  and  stars,  rejoicing  round  the  pole; 
Earth,  o'er  its  peopled  realms  and  wastes  unknown, 
Clad  in  the  wealth  of  every  varying  zone ; 
Ocean,  through  all  the'  enchantment  of  his  forms, 
From  breathing  calms  to  devastating  storms; 
Heaven,  in  the  vision  of  eternal  bliss; 
Heath's  terrors,  hell's  unsearchable  abyss  ; 
—  Though  rapt  iu  secrecy  from  human  eye, 
These  in  the  mind's  profound  sensorium  lie, 
And,  with  their  Maker,  by  a  glance  of  thought, 
Are  in  a  moment  to  remembrance  brought; 
Then  most,  when  most  restrain'd  the'  imperfect  sight, 
God  and  His  works  shine  forth  in  His  own  light. 
Yet  clearest  through  that  veil  the  Pilgrims  trace 
Their  Father's  image  in  their  Saviour's  face ; 
A  sigh  can  waft  them  to  His  feet  in  prayer, 
Not  Gabriel  bends  with  more  acceptance  there, 
Nor  to  the  throne  from  heaven's  pure  altar  rise 
The  odours  of  a  sweeter  sacrifice, 
Than  when  before  the  mercy-seat  they  kneel, 
And  tell  Him  all  they  fear,  or  hope,  or  feel; 
Perils  without,  and  enemies  within, 
Satan,  the  world,  temptation,  weakness,  sin  ; 
Yet  rest  unshaken  on  his  sure  defence, 
Invincible  through  his  omnipotence  : 


"  Oh  !  step  by  step,"  they  cry,  "  direct  our  way, 
And  give  Thy  grace,  like  manna,  day  by  day; 
The  store  of  yesterday  will  not  suffice, 
To-morrow's  sun  to  us  may  never  rise  : 
Safe  only,  when  our  souls  are  stay'd  on  Thee; 
Rich  only,  when  we  know  our  poverty." 

And    step    by  step   the   Lord   those   suppliants 
led; 
He  gave  them  daily  grace  like  daily  bread : 
By  sea,  on  shore,  through  all  their  pilgrimage, 
In  rest  and  labour,  to  their  latest  age, 
Sharp  though  their  trials,  and  their  comforts  scant, 
God  was  their  refuge,  and  they  knew  not  want. 

On  rustling  pinions,  like  an  unseen  bird, 
Among  the  yards  a  stirring  breeze  is  heard : 
The  conscious  vessel  wakes  as  from  a  trance. 
Her  colours  float,  the  filling  sails  advance; 
■White  from  her  prow  the  murmuring  surge  recedes  : 
—  So  the  swan,  startled  from  her  nest  of  reeds, 
Swells  into  beauty,  and,  with  curving  chest, 
Cleaves  the  blue  lake,  with  motion  soft  as  rest. 
Light  o'er  the  liquid  lawn  the  pageant  glides; 
Her  helm  the  well-experienced  pilot  guides, 
And,  while  he  threads  the  mist-enveloped  maze, 
Turns  to  the  magnet  his  inquiring  gaze, 
In  whose  mute  oracle,  where'er  he  steers, 
The  pointing  hand  of  Providence  appears; 
With  this,  though  months  of  gloom  the  main  enrobe, 
His  keel  might  plough  a  furrow  round  the  globe. 

Again  the  night  ascends  without  a  star: 
Low  sounds  come  booming  o'er  the  waves  afar, 


court  [of  Denmark]  and  all  benevolent  minds.  The  con 
negation  at  Ilerrnhut  had  a  custom,  from  the  year  1728 
before  the  commencement  of  a  year,  to  compile  a  little  man- 
ual, containing  a  text  of  Holy  Scripture  for  every  day  in  the 
same,  and  each  illustrated  or  applied  by  a  verse  annexed, 
out  of  the  hymn-book.  This  text  was  called  the  word  of 
the  day;  it  was  given  to  be  the  subject  of  meditation  with 
each  member  of  the  church  in  private,  and  of  discourse  by 
the  ministers  in  the  public  meeting.     Many  a  time  it  has 

1 „  found  that  the  word  of  the  day.  on  which  some  peculiar 

event  occurred,  has  remarkably  coincided  with  it.  Thus  on 
this  10th  of  April,  when  our  brethren  set  sail  [from  Copen- 
hagen] on  a  mission,  which  often  afterwards  seemed  to 
baffle  all  hope,  the  word  was  (Heb.  xi.  1.),  '  Faith  is  the  sub- 
stance of  things  hoped  for,  the  evidence  of  things  not  seen. 
'We  view  Him,  whom  no  eye  can  see. 
With  faith's  perspective  steadfastly.' 
In  this  confidence  they  set  sail,  nor  did  they  suffer  them- 
selves to  be  confounded  by  any  of  the  unspeakable  difficul- 


ties of  the  following  years,  till  they  and  we  at  last  beheld 
the  completion  of  what  they  hoped  for  by  faith.  They 
had  a  speedy,  and.  excepting  some  storms,  a  commodious 
voyage.  They  sailed  by  Shetland.  April  22d,  passing  there 
out  of  the  North  into"  the  West  Sea,  or  long  reach,  and 
entered  Davis's  Straits  about  the  beginning  of  May.  On 
the  6th  they  fell  among  some  floating  ice.  in  a  thick  fog, 
and  the  next  day  were  assailed  by  a  terrible  tempest;  but 
this  very  tempest  drove  the  ice  so  far  asunder,  that  it 
also  dissipated  their  fears.  The  13th  they  descried  land; 
but  on  the  same  day.  after  a  total  eclipse  of  the  sun.  there 
arose  a  violent  storm,  that  lasted  four  days  and  nights, 
and  drove  them  sixty  leagues  back.  May  the  20th.  they 
entered  Ball's  Kiver,  after  a  voyage  of  six  weeks.  The 
word  of  the  day  was.  -The  peace  of  Goo.  which  passcth  all 
understanding,  keep  your  hearts  and  minds  through 
Jim  -  Christ.'  By  this  they  were  frequently  encouraged 
in  the  first  years  ensuing,  amidst  all  the  opposition  which 
they  encountered,  and  the  small  prospect  of  the  con- 
verfii  rj  of  the  heathens." 


Canto  III. 


GREENLAND. 


115 


As  if  conflicting  navies  shook  the  flood, 
With  human  thunders  in  the  strife  of  blood, 
That  slay  more  victims  in  one  brief  campaign 
Than  heaven's  own  bolts  through    centuries   have 

slain. 
The  seaman  hearkens;  —  colour  flies  his  cheek, 
His    stout   heart   throbs  with   fears    he    dare   not 

speak. 
No  lightning-splendours  streak  the' unbroken  gloom; 
—  His  bark  may  shoot  the  gulf  beyond  the  tomb, 
And  he,  if  e'er  it  come,  may  meet  a  light 
Which  never  yet  hath  dawn'd  on  living  sight. 
Fresher  and  fresher  blows  the'  insurgent  gale  ; 
He  reefs  his  tops,  he  narrows  sail  by  sail, 
Yet  feels  the  ship  with  swifter  impulse  sweep 
O'er  mightier  billows,  the  recoiling  deep ; 
While  still,  with  doleful  omen  on  his  ear, 
Come  the  deaf  echoes  of  those  sounds  of  fear, 
Distant,  —  yet  every  volley  rolls  more  near. 

Oh  !  in  that  agony  of  thought  forlorn, 
How  longs  the  impatient  mariner  for  morn  ! 
She  wakes,  —  his  eyes  are  wither'd  to  behold 
The  scene  which  her  disastrous  beams  unfold : 
The  fog  is  vanish'd,  but  the  welkin  lowers, 
Sharp  hail  descends,  and  sleet  in  blinding  showers : 
Ocean  one  bed  of  foam,  with  fury  tost, 
In  undistinguishable  whiteness  lost, 
Save  where  vast  fields  of  ice  their  surface  show, 
Buoyant,  but  many  a  fathom  sunk  below  : 
Changing  his  station  as  the  fragments  pass. 
Death  stands  the  pilot  of  each  ponderous  mass; 
Gathering  his  brow  into  the  darkest  frown, 
He  bolts  his  raft  to  run  the  victim  down, 
But  shoots  astern  :  —  the  shock  the  vessel  feels, 
A  moment  in  the  giddy  whirlpool  reels, 
Then  like  an  arrow  soars,  as  through  the  air, 
So  high  the  salient  waves  their  burden  bear. 

Quick  skirmishes  with  floating  batteries  past, 
Piuin  inevitable  threats  at  last: 
Athwart  the  north,  like  ships  of  battle  spread, 
Winter's  flotilla,  by  their  captain  led, 
(Who  boasts  with  these  to  make  his  prowess  known, 
And  plant  his  foot  beyond  the  arctic  zone,) 
Islands  of  ice,  so  wedged  and  grappled  lie, 
One  moving  continent  appals  the  eye, 
And  to  the  ear  renews  those  notes  of  doom 
That   brought   portentous    warnings    through    the 
gloom  ; 


For  loud  and  louder,  with  explosive  shocks, 

Sudden  convulsions  split  the  frost-bound  rocks, 

And  launch  loose  mountains  on  the  frothing  ooze, 

As  pirate-barks,  on  summer  seas  to  cruise. 

In  front  this  perilous  array;  —  behind, 

Borne  on  the  surges,  driven  by  the  wind, 

The  vessel  hurries  to  the  brink  of  fate; 

All  efforts  fail,  —  but  prayer  is  not  too  late  : 

Then,  in  the  imminent  and  ghastly  fall 

Foul  on  destruction,  the  disciples  call 

On  Him,  their  Master,  who,  in  human  form, 

Slept  in  the  lap  of  the  devouring  storm ; 

On  Him,  who  in  the  midnight  watch  was  seen, 

Walking  the  gulf,  ineffably  serene, 

At  whose  rebuke  the  tempest  ceased  to  roar, 

The  winds  earess'd  the  waves,  the  waves  the  shore : 

On  Him  they  call ;  —  their  prayer,  in  faith  preferr'd 

Amidst  the  frantic  hurricane,  is  heard; 

He  gives  the  sign,  by  none  in  earth  or  heaven 

Known,  but  by  him  to  whom  the  charge  is  given, 

The  Angel  of  the  Waters;  —  he,  whose  wrath 

Had  hurl'd  the  vessel  on  that  shipwreck  path, 

Becomes  a  minister  of  grace  ;  —  his  breath 

Blows,  —  and  the  enemies  are  scatter'd,  — Death, 

Reft  of  his  quarry,  plunges  through  the  wave, 

Buried  himself  where  he  had  mark'd  their  grave. 

The  line  of  battle  broken,  and  the  chain 

Of  that  armada,  which  oppress'd  the  main, 

Snapt  hopelessly  asunder,  quickly  all 

The'  enormous  masses  in  disruption  fall, 

And  the  weak  vessel,  through  the  chaos  wild, 

Led  by  the  mighty  Angel,  —  as  a  child, 

Snatch'd  from  its  crib,  and  in  the  mother's  arms 

Borne  through  a  midnight  tumult  of  alarms, — 

Escapes  the  wrecks  ;  nor  slackens  her  career 

Till  sink  the  forms,  and  cease  the  sounds,  of  fear, 

And  He,  who  rules  the  universe  at  will, 

Saith  to  the  reinless  elements,  "Be  still." 

Then  rise  sweet  hymns  of  gratulation ;  praise 
From  hearts  and  voices,  in  harmonious  lays;  — 
So  Israel  sang  deliverance,  when  he  stood 
By  the  Red  Sea,  and  saw  the  morning-flood, 
That  in  its  terrible  embraces  bore 
The  slain  pursuers  and  their  spoils  on  shore. 

Light-breathing  gales  awhile  their  course  propel, 
The  billows  roll  with  pleasurable  swell, 
Till  the  seventh  dawn  ;  when  o'er  the  pure  expanse 
The  sun,  like  lightning,  throws  his  earliest  glance, 


]16 


GREENLAND. 


Casto  III. 


"  Land !  Land ! "    exclaims  the  ship-boy  from  the 

mast, 
"  Land !  Land  !"  with  one  electric  shock  hath  pass'd 
From  lip  to  lip,  and  every  eye  hath  caught 
The  cheering  glimpse  so  long,  so  dearly  sought : 
Yet  must  imagination  half  supply 
The  doubtful  streak,  dividing  sea  and  sky; 
Nor  clearly  known,  till,  in  sublimer  day, 
From  icy  cliffs  refracted  splendours  play, 
And  clouds  of  sea-fowl  high  in  ether  sweep, 
Or  fall  like  stars  through  sunshine  on  the  deep. 
'Tis  Greenland  !  but  so  desolately  bare, 
Amphibious  life  alone  inhabits  there  ; 
'Tis  Greenland !  yet  so  beautiful  the  sight, 
The  Brethren  gaze  with  uudisturb'd  delight : 
In  silence  (as  before  the  Throne)  they  stand, 
And  pray,  in  prospect  of  that  promised  land, 
That  He,  who  sends  them  thither,  may  abide 
Through  the  waste  howling  wilderness  their  guide  ; 
And  the  Good  Shepherd  seek  his  straying  flocks, 
Lost  on  those  frozen  waves  and  herbless  rocks, 
By  the  still  waters  of  his  comforts  lead, 
And  in  the  pastures  of  salvation  feed. 

Their  faith  must  yet  be  tried  :  —  the  sun  at  noon 
Shrinks  from  the  shadow  of  the  passing  moon, 
Till,  ray  by  ray  of  all  his  pomp  bereft 
(Save  one  slight  ring  of  quivering  lustre  left), 
Total  eclipse  involves  his  peerless  eye  : 
Portentous  twilight  creeps  around  the  sky ; 
The  frighted  sea-birds  to  their  haunts  repair; 
There  is  a  freezing  stillness  in  the  air, 
As  if  the  blood  through  Nature's  veins  ran  cold, 
A  prodigy  so  fearful  to  behold  ; 
A  few  faint  stars  gleam  through  the  dread  serene, 
Trembling  and  pale  spectators  of  the  scene; 


i  The  Greenlanders  believe  that  the  sun  and  moon  arc 
sister  and  brother.  They,  with  other  children,  were  ouee 
playing  together  in  the  dark,  when  Aninga  behaving  rudely 
to  his  sister  Malina.  she  rubbed  her  hands  in  the  soot  about 
the  extinguished  lamp,  and  smeared  his  face,  that  she  might 
discover  by  daylight  who  was  her  tormentor;  and  thus  the 
.lu.ky  spots  on  the  moon  had  their  origin;  while  she. 
struggling  to  escape,  slipped  out  of  his  arms,  soared  aloft, 
and  became  the  sun.  He  followed  up  into  the  firmament, 
and  was  transformed  into  the  moon;  but  as  he  has  never 
been  able  to  rise  so  high  as  she,  he  continues  running  after 
her.  with  the  vain  hope  of  overtaking  her.  VThen  he  is 
tired  and  hungry,  in  his  last  quarter,  he  sets  out  from  his 
house  a  seal-hunting,  on  a  sledge  drawn  by  four  great 
dogs,  and  stays  several  days  abroad  to  recruit  and  fat- 
ten: and  this"  produces  the  full  moon.  He  rejoices  when 
the  women  die.  and  Malina.  in  revenge,  rejoices  when  the 
men  die;    therefore  the  men   keep   at  home   during   an 


While  the  rude  mariners,  with  stern  amaze, 

As  on  some  tragic  execution  gaze, 

When  calm  but  awful  guilt  is  stretch'd  to  feel 

The  torturing  fire,  or  dislocating  wheel, 

And  life,  like  light  from  yonder  orb,  retires, 

Spark  after  spark,  till  the  whole  man  expires. 

Yet  may  the  darken'd  sun  and  mourning  skies 

Point  to  a  higher,  holier  sacrifice  : 

The  Brethren's  thoughts  to  Calvary's  brow  ascend, 

Round  the  Redeemer's  Cross  their  spirits  bend, 

And  while  heaven  frowns,  earth  shudders,  graves 

disclose 
The  forms  of  sleepers,  startled  from  repose, 
They  catch  the  blessing  of  His  latest  breath, 
Mark  His  last  look,  and,  through  the  eclipse  of  death, 
See  lovelier  beams  than  Tabor's  vision  shed, 
Wreathe  a  meek  halo  round  His  sacred  head. 
To  Greenland  then,  with  quick  compassion,  turn 
Their  deepest  sympathies;  their  bosoms  burn, 
To  her  barbarian  race,  with  tongues  of  flame, 
His  love,  His  grief,  His  glory  to  proclaim. 

0  could  they  view,  in  this  alarming  hour, 
Those  wretched  ones,  themselves  beneath  the  power 
Of  darkness,  while  the  shadow  clips  the  sun  ! 
How  to  their  dens  the  fierce  sea-hunters  run, 
Who  death  in  every  shape  of  peril  brave, 
By  storms  and  monsters,  on  the  faithless  wave, 
But  now  in  speechless  horror  lie  aghast, 
Till  the  malignant  prodigy  be  past : 
While  bolder  females,  with  tormenting  spells, 
Consult  their  household  dogs  as  oracles, 
And  by  the  yelping  of  their  curs  divine, 
That  still  the  earth  may  stand,  the  sun  may  shine. 
Then  forth  they  creep,  and  to  their  offspring  tell 
What  fate  of  old  a  youth  and  maid  befell : ' 

eclipse  of  the  sun.  and  the  women  during  an  eclipse  of 
the  moon.  When  he  is  in  eclipse,  Aninga  prowls  about 
the  dwellings  of  the  Greenlanders,  to  plague  the  females, 
and  steal  provisions  and  skins,  nay,  even  to  kill  those 
persons  who  have  not  duly  observed  the  laws  of  tern]  er- 
ance  At  these  times  they  hide  their  most  precious  goods ; 
and  the  men  carry  kettles  and  chests  to  the  tops  of  their 
houses,  and  rattle  upon  them  with  cudgels  to  frighten 
away  the  moon,  and  make  him  return  to  his  place  in  the 
sky.  During  an  eclipse  of  the  sun.  the  men  skulk  in 
terror  into  the  darkest  corners,  while  the  women  pinch 
the  cars  of  their  dogs:  and  if  these  cry  out.  it  is  a  sure 
omen  that  the  end  of  the  world  is  not  yet  come:  for  as 
docs  existed  before  men,  according  to  Greenland  logic 
they  must  have  a  quicker  foresight  into  futurity.  Shou.d 
the  dogs  be  mute,  (which  of  course  they  never  are,  under 
such  ill  treatment.)  then  the  dissolution  of  all  things 
must  be  at  hand.  — See  Crantz. 


Canto  III. 


GREENLAND. 


117 


How,  in  the  age  of  night,  ere  day  was  horn 

On  the  blue  hills  of  undiscover'd  morn ; 

Where    one    pale    cresset    twinkled    through   the 

shade, 
Malina  and  her  gay  companions  play'd 
A  thousand  mimic  sports,  as  children  wont; 
They  hide,    they  seek,  they  shoot,   harpoon,   and 

hunt; 
When  lo  !  Aninga,  passionate  and  young, 
Keen  as  a  wolf,  upon  his  sister  sprung, 
And  pounced  his  victim;  —  gentler  way  to  woo 
He  knew  not,  or  he  scorn'd  it  if  he  knew  : 
Malina  snatch'd  her  lamp,  and  in  the  dark 
Dash'd  on  his  felon-front  a  hideous  mark, 
Slipp'd  from  his  foul  embrace  (and  laugh'd  aloud), 
Soft  as  the  rainbow  melting  from  the  cloud ; 
Then  shot  to  heaven,  and  in  her  wondrous  flight 
Transform'd  her  image,  sparkled  into  light, 
Became  the  sun,  and,  through  the  firmament, 
Forth  in  the  glory  of  a  goddess  went. 
Aninga,  baffled,  madden'd,  unsubdued, 
By  her  own  beams  the  fugitive  pursued, 
And,  when  she  set,  his  broad  disfigured  mien 
As  the  dim  moon  among  the  stars  was  seen  ; 
Thenceforward  doom'd  his  sister's  steps  to  chase, 
But  ne'er  o'ertake  in  heaven's  eternal  race. 
Yet  when  his  vanish'd  orb  might  seem  to  sleep, 
He  takes  his  monthly  pastime  on  the  deep, 
Through  storms,  o'er  cataracts,  in  his  kayak  sails, 
Strikes  with  unerring  dart  the  polar  whales, 
Or  o'er  ice-mountains,  in  his  dog-drawn  car, 
Pursues  the  reindeer  to  the  farthest  star. 
But  when  eclipse  his  baneful  disk  invades, 
He  prowls  for  prey  among  the  Greenland  maids, 
Till  roaring  drums,  belabouring  sticks,  and  cries 
Repel  the  errant  Demon  to  the  skies. 

The  sun  hath  cast  aside  his  veil;  —  he  shines 
With  purest  splendour  till  his  orb  declines; 
Then  landward,  marshalling  in  black  array, 
Eruptive  vapours  drive  him  from  the  day ; 
And  night  again,  with  premature  control, 
Binds  light  in  chains  of  darkness  o'er  the  pole; 
Heaven  in  one  ebon  mass  of  horror  scowls : 
—  Anon  a  universal  whirlwind  howls, 
With  such  precipitation  dash'd  on  high, 
Not   from    one   point,    but   from   the   whole    dark 

sky, 
The  surges  at  the  onset  shrink  aghast, 
Borne  down  beneath  the  paralysing  blast; 


Bat  soon  the  mad  tornado  slants  its  course, 
And  rolls  them  into  mountains  by  main  force, 
Then,  utterly  embroil'd  through  clouds  and  waves, 
As  'twixt  two  oceans  met  in  conflict,  raves. 
Now  to  the  passive  bark,  alternate  tost, 
Above,  below,  both  sea  and  sky  are  lost ; 
All  but  the  giddy  summit,  where  her  keel 
Hangs  in  light  balance  on  the  billowy  wheel; 
Then,  as  the  swallow,  in  his  windward  flight, 
Quivers     the    wing,    returns,     and    darts     down- 
right, 
She  plunges  through  the  blind  abyss,  and  o'er 
Her  groaning  masts  the  cavern'd  waters  roar. 
Ruled  by  the  hurricane,  no  more  the  helm 
Obeys  the  pilot;  —  seas  on  seas  o'erwhelm 
The  deck ;  where  oft  embattled  currents  meet, 
Foam  in  white  whirlpools,  flash  to  spray,  retreat, 
And  rock  the  vessel  with  their  huge  turmoils, 
Like  the  cork-float  around  the  fisher's  toils. 
Three  days  of  restless  agony,  that  seem 
Of  one  delirious  night  the  waking  dream, 
The  mariners  in  vain  their  labours  ply, 
Or  sick  at  heart  in  pale  despondence  lie. 
The  Brethren,  weak,  yet  firm  as  when  they  faced 
Winter's  ice-legions  on  his  own  bleak  waste, 
In  patient  hope,  that  utters  no  complaint, 
Pray  without  ceasing;  pray,  and  never  faint; 
Assured  that  He,  who  from  the  tempest's  neck 
Hath  loosed  his  grasp,  still  holds  it  at  his  beck, 
And,  with  a  pulse  too  deep  for  mortal  sense, 

—  The  secret  pulse  of  his  omnipotence, 

That  beats  through  every  motion  of  the  storm, 

—  Can  check  destruction  in  its  wildest  form : 
Bow'd  to  His  will,  —  their  lot  how  truly  blest, 
Who  live  to  serve  Him,  and  who  die  to  rest! 

To  live  and  serve  Him,  is  their  Lord's  decree; 
He     curbs     the    wind,    He     calms    the'    infuriate 

sea; 
The  sea  and  wind  their  Maker's  yoke  obey, 
And  waft  his  servants  on  their  destined  way. 
Though  many  a  league  by  that  disaster  driven 
'Thwart  from  their  course,  with  planks  and  cordage 

riven, 
With  hands  disabled,  and  exhausted  strength, 
The  active  crew  refit  their  bark  at  length  ; 
Along  the  placid  gulf,  with  heaving  sails, 
That  catch  from  every  point  propitious  gales, 
Led  like  the  moon,  from  infancy  to  age, 
Round  the  wide  zodiac  of  her  pilgrimage, 


1 


118 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  III. 


Onward  and  smooth  their  voyage  they  pursue 
Till  Greenland's  coast  again  salutes  their  view. 


'Tis  sunset:  to  the  firmament  serene 
The'  Atlantic  wave  reflects  a  gorgeous  scene  : 
Broad  in  the  cloudless  west  a  belt  of  gold 
Girds  the  blue  hemisphere  ;  above,  unroll'd, 
The  keen  clear  air  grows  palpable  to  sight, 
Embodied  in  a  flush  of  crimson  light, 
Through  which  the  evening  star,  with  milder  gleam, 
Descends,  to  meet  her  image  in  the  stream. 
Far  in  the  east,  what  spectacle  unknown 
Allures  the  eye  to  gaze  on  it  alone  ? 

—  Amidst  black  rocks,  that  lift  on  either  hand 
Their  countless  peaks,  and  mark  receding  land ; 
Amidst  a  tortuous  labyrinth  of  seas, 

That  shine  around  the  arctic  Cyclades; 
Amidst  a  coast  of  dreariest  continent, 
In  many  a  shapeless  promontory  rent : 

—  O'er  rocks,  seas,  islands,  promontories  spread, 
The  Ice-Blink  rears  its  undulated  head,1 

On  which  the  sun,  beyond  the'  horizon  shrined, 

Hath  left  his  richest  garniture  behind; 

Piled  on  a  hundred  arches,  ridge  by  ridge, 

O'er  fix'd  and  fluid  strides  the  Alpine  bridge, 

Whose  blocks  of  sapphire  seem  to  mortal  eye 

Hewn  from  cerulean  quarries  of  the  sky  ; 

With  glacier-battlements,  that  crowd  the  spheres, 

The  slow  creation  of  six  thousand  years, 

Amidst  immensity  it  towers  sublime, 

— Winter's  eternal  palace,  built  by  Time  : 

All  human  structures  by  his  touch  are  borne 

Down   to    the    dust;  —  mountains    themselves    ar 

worn 
With  his  light  footsteps;  here  for  ever  grows, 
Amid  the  region  of  unmelting  snows, 
A  monument,  where  every  flake  that  falls 
Gives  adamantine  firmness  to  the  walls. 
The  sun  beholds  no  mirror,  in  his  race, 
That  shows  a  brighter  image  of  his  face; 
The  stars,  in  their  nocturnal  vigils,  rest 
Like  signal-fires  on  its  illumined  crest; 
The  gliding  moon  around  the  ramparts  wheels, 
And  all  its  magic  lights  and  shades  reveals; 
Beneath,  the  tide  with  idle  fury  raves 
To  undermine  it  through  a  thousand  caves; 


Bent  from  its  roof,  though   thundering   fragments 

oft 
Plunge  to  the  gulf;  immovable  aloft, 
From  age  to  age,  in  air,  o'er  sea,  on  land, 
Its  turrets  heighten  and  its  piers  expand. 

Midnight  hath    told  his   hour;   the   moon,   yet 
young, 
Hangs  in  the  argent  west  her  bow  unstrung; 
Larger  and  fairer,  as  her  lustre  fades, 
Sparkle  the  stars  amidst  the  deepening  shades : 
Jewels,  more  rich  than  night's  regalia,  gem 
The  distant  Ice-Blink's  spangled  diadem  ; 
Like  a  new  morn  from  orient  darkness,  there 
Phosphoric  splendours  kindle  in  mid-air, 
As  though  from  heaven's  self-opening  portals  came 
Legions  of  spirits  in  an  orb  of  flame, 
—  Flame,  that  from  every  point  an  arrow  sends 
Far  as  the  concave  firmament  extends  : 
Spun  with  the  tissue  of  a  million  lines, 
Glistening  like  gossamer  the  welkin  shines  : 
The  constellations  in  their  pride  look  pale 
Through   the    quick-trembling   brilliance    of    that 

veil. 
Then,  suddenly  converged,  the  meteors  rush 
O'er  the  wide  south ;  one  deep  vermilion  blush 
O'erspreads  Orion  glaring  on  the  flood, 
And  rabid  Sirius  foams  through  fire  and  blood; 
Again  the  circuit  of  the  pole  they  range, 
Motion  and  figure  every  moment  change, 
Through  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  run, 
Or  blaze  like  wrecks  of  a  dissolving  sun  ; 
Wide  ether  burns  with  glory,  conflict,  flight, 
And  the  glad  ocean  dances  in  the  light. 

The  seaman's  jealous  eye  askance  surveys 
This  pageantry  of  evanescent  rays, 
While  in  the  horror  of  misgiving  fear 
New  storms  already  thunder  on  his  ear : 
But  morning  comes,  and  brings  him  sweet  release; 
Day  shines  and  sets  ;  at  evening  all  is  peace  ; 
Another  and  another  day  is  past; 
The  fourth  appears,  —  the  loveliest  and  the  last  ! 
The  sails  are  furl'd ;  the  anchor  drags  the  sand; 
The  boat  bath  cross'd  the  creek;  — the   Brethren 
land. 


i  The  term  Ice-Blink  is  generally  applied  by  our  mariners 
to  the  nocturnal  illumination  in  the  heavens,  which  denotes 
to  them  the  proximity  of  ice-mountains.   In  this  place  a  de- 


scription is  attempted  of  the  most  stupendous  accumulation 
of  ice  in  the  known  world,  which  has  been  long  distinguish- 
ed under  this  peculiar  Dame  by  the  Danish  navigators. 


Canto  IV. 


GREENLAND. 


119 


CANTO    FOURTH. 

Retrospect  of  ancient  Greenland: — The  Discovery 
of  Iceland,  of  Greenland,  of  Wineland.  The 
Norwegian  Colonies  on  the  Eastern  and  Western 
Coasts  of  Greenland ;  the  Appearance  of  the 
Skruellings,  or  modern  Grecnlanders,  in  the  West, 
and  the  Destruction  of  the  Norwegian  Settlers  in 
that  quarter. 

Here  while  in  peace  the  weary  Pilgrims  rest, 

Turn  we  our  voyage  from  the  new-found  west, 

Sail  up  the  current  of  departed  time, 

And  seek  along  its  banks  that  vanish'd  clime 

By  ancient  scalds  in  Runic  verse  renown'd, 

Now,  like  old  Babylon,  no  longer  found. 

—  "  Oft  was  I  weary  when  I  toil'd  at  thee ;" 1 

This,  on  an  oar  abandon'd  to  the  sea, 

Some  hand  had  graven:  —  From   what   founder'd 

boat 
Tt  fell ;  —  how  long  on  ocean's  waves  afloat; 
— Who  mark'd  it  with  that  melancholy  line ; 
No  record  tells  :  —  Greenland  !  such  fate  was  thine  ; 
Whate'er  thou  wast,  of  thee  remains  no  more 
Than  a  brief  legend  on  a  foundling  oar ; 
And  he,  whose  song  would  now  revive  thy  fame, 
Grasps  but  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  name. 

From  Asia's  fertile  womb,  when  Time  was  young, 
And  earth  a  wreck,  the  sires  of  nations  sprung; 
In  Shinar's  land  of  rivers,  Babel's  tower 
Stood  the  lorn  relic  of  their  scattcr'd  power; 
A  broken  pillar,  snapt  as  from  the  spheres, 
Slow-wasting  through  the  silent  lapse  of  years, 
While  o'er  the  regions  by  the  Flood  destroy'd 
The  builders  breathed  new  life  throughout  the  void, 
Soul,  passion,  intellect;  till  blood  of  man 
Through  every  artery  of  Nature  ran, 
O'er  eastern  islands  pour'd  its  quickening  stream, 
Caught  the  warm  crimson  of  the  western  beam, 

1  About  the  middle  of  the  seventeenth  century,  an  oar 
was  drifted  on  the  coast  of  Iceland,  bearing  this  inscrip. 
tion  in  Runic  characters:  — 

"Oft  var  ek  dasa,  dur  ek  dro  thilc." 

'•Oft  was  I  weary  when  I  drew  thee."  This  oar  was  con- 
jectured to  have  been  brought  from  East  Greenland,  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  after  the  last  ship  sailed  from 
Norway  for  that  coast. 

2  Among  numerous  incoherent  traditions,  it  is  recorded 
that  Iceland  was  first  discovered  by  one  Flokko,  a  pirate, 


Beneath  the  burning  line  made  fountains  start 

In  the  dry  wilderness  of  Afric's  heart, 

And  through  the  torpid  north,  with  genial  heat, 

Taught,  love's  exhilarating  pulse  to  beat ; 

Till  the  great  sun,  in  his  perennial  round, 

Man,  of  all  climes  the  restless  native,  found, 

Pursuing  folly  in  his  vain  career, 

As  if  existence  were  immortal  here  ; 

While  on  the  fathers' graves  the  sons,  untaught 

By  their  mischance,  the  same  illusions  sought, 

By  gleams  and  shadows  measured  woe  and  bliss, 

As  though  unborn  for  any  world  but  this. 

Five  thousand  years,  unvisitcd,  unknown, 
Greenland  lay  slumbering  in  the  frozen  zone, — 
While  heaven's  resplendent  host  pursued  their  way 
To  light  the  wolf  and  eagle  to  their  prey. 
And  tempests  o'er  the  main  their  terrors  spread 
To  rock  Leviathan  upon  his  bed  ;  — 
Ere  Ingolf  his  undaunted  flag  unfurl'd, 
To  search  the  secrets  of  the  polar  world.2 
'Twas  liberty,  that  fires  the  coldest  veins, 
And  exile,  famine,  death,  prefers  to  chains  ; 
'Twas  liberty,  through  floods  unplough'd  before, 
That  led  his  gallant  crew  from  Norway's  shore ; 
They  cut  their  cable,  and  in  thunder  broke 
With  their  departing  oars  the  tyrant's  yoke; 
The  deep  their  country,  and  their  bark  their  home, 
A  floating  isle,  on  which  they  joy'd  to  roam 
Amidst  immensity;  with  waves  and  wind 
Now  sporting  and  now  wrestling;  —  uneonfined, 
Save  by  the  blue  surrounding  firmament, 
Full,  yet  for  ever  widening  as  they  went; 
Thus  sail'd  those  mariners,  unheeding  where 
They  found  a  port,  if  Freedom  anchor'd  there. 

By  stars  that  never  set  their  course  they  steer'd, 
And  northward  with  indignant  impulse  veer'd  ; 
For  sloth  had  lull'd,  and  luxury  o'errun, 
And   bondage    seized,    the    realms   that   loved  the 
sun. 

who,  being  bewildered  at  sea,  let  fly  (as  was  the  custom  of 
the  Norwegians  in  such  extremities)  a  raven,  which,  soaring 
to  a  great  elevation,  discerned  land,  an  J  made  for  it.  Flokko 
followed,  and  arriving  at  a  mountainous  coast  covered  with 
snow  and  glaciers,  called  it  Iceland.  Some  time  afterwards, 
about  the  year  S74,  Ingolf,  a  Norwegian  earl,  with  his  vas- 
sals, escaping  from  the  tyranny  of  Harold  Harfagar,  pur- 
sued the  same  course  as  Flokko,  and,  by  the  same  experi- 
ment with  a  raven,  re-discovered  Iceland:  which  he  and 
his  followers  peopled,  and  there  he  established  a  common- 
wealth that  reflected  honour  on  an  age  of  barbarism 


120 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  IV. 


At  length  'by  mountain-ice,  with  perils  strange, 

Menaced,  repell'd,  and  forced  their  track  to  change, 

They  bade  the  unimprison'd  raven  fly, 

A  living  compass  through  the  chartless  sky : 

Up  to  the  zenith,  swift  as  fire,  he  soar'd, 

Through  the  clear  boundless  atmosphere  explored 

The  dim  horizon  stretch'd  beneath  his  sight; 

Then  to  the  west  full-onward  shot  his  flight: 

Thither  they  follow;  till,  from  Thule's  rocks, 

Around  the  bird  of  tempests  rose  the  flocks 

Of  screaming  sea-fowl,  widening  ring  o'er  ring, 

Till  heaven  grew  dark,— then,  wheeling  on  the  wing 

Landward,  they  whiten  all  the  rocks  below, 

Or,  diving,  melt  into  the  gulf  like  snow. 

Pleased  with  the  proud  discovery,  Ingolf  gave 

His  lintel  and  his  doorposts  to  the  wave, 

Divining,  as  they  drifted  to  the  strand, 

The  will  of  destiny,  —  the  place  to  land.1 

There  on  a  homeless  soil  his  foot  he  placed, 

Framed  his  hut-palace,  colonised  the  waste, 

And  ruled  his  horde  with  patriarchal  sway; 

— Where  justice  reigns,  'tis  freedom  to  obey: 

And  there  his  race,  in  long  succession  blest, 

(Like  generations  in  the  eagle's  nest, 

Upon  their  own  hereditary  rock,) 

Flourish'd,  invincible  to  every  shock 

Of  time,  chance,  foreign  force,  or  civil  rage, — 

A  noble  dynasty  from  age  to  age  ; 

And  Iceland  shone  for  generous  lore  renown'd, 

A  northern  light,  when  all  was  gloom  around. 

Ere  long,  by  brave  adventurers  on  the  tide, 
A  new  Hesperian  region  was  descried, 
Which  fancy  deem'd,  or  fable  feign'd,  so  fair, 
Fleets  from  old  Norway  pour'd  their  settlers  there, 
Who  traced  and  peopled  far  that  double  shore, 
Round  whose  repelling  rocks  two  oceans  roar, 
Till,  at  the  southern  promontory,  tost 
By  tempests,  each  is  in  its  rival  lost. 
Thus  Greenland  (so  that  arctic  world  they  named) 
Was  planted,  and  to  utmost  Calpe  famed 
For  wealth  exhaustless,  which  her  seas  could  boast, 
And  prodigies  of  Nature  on  her  coast; 


1  This  device  of  superstition  is  borrowed  from  the  tra- 
dition concerning  Ingolf,  and  probably  the  same  was  fre- 
quently employed  by  the  northern  rovers,  leaving  their 
native  country,  and  seeking  a  home  in  strange  lands. 

2  The  extravagant  accounts  of  the  fertility  of  ancient 
Greenland  need  not  be  particularised  here.  Some  of  the 
annals  state,  that  the  best  wheat  grew  to  perfection  in  the 
valleys;  that  the  forests  wore  extensive  and  luxuriant;  flocks 


Where,  in  the  green  recess  of  every  glen, 

The  House  of  Prayer  o'crtopt  the'  abodes  of  men, 

And  flocks  and  cattle  grazed  by  summer-streams, 

That  track'd  the  valleys  with  meandering  gleams : 

While  on  the  mountains  ice  eternal  frown'd, 

And  growing  glaciers  deepen'd  tow'rds  the  ground. 

Year  after  year,  as  centuries  roll'd  away, 

Nor  lost  one  moment  till  that  judgment-day 

When    eastern    Greenland    from    the    world    was 

rent, 
Ingulf'd, —  or  fix'd  one  frozen  continent.2 

'Twere  long  and  dreary  to  recount  in  rhyme 
The  crude  traditions  of  that  long-lost  clime: 
To  sing  of  wars,  by  barbarous  chieftains  waged, 
In  which  as  fierce  and  noble  passions  raged, 
Heroes  as  subtle,  bold,  remorseless,  fought, 
And  deeds  as  dark  and  terrible  were  wrought, 
As  round  Troy-walls  became  the  splendid  themes 
Of  Homer's  song,  and  Jove's  Olympian  dreams ; 
When  giant-prowess,  in  the  iron  field, 
With  single  arm  made  phalanx'd  legions  yield; 
When  battle  was  but  massacre,  —  the  strife 
Of  murderers,  —  steel  to  steel,  and  life  to  life. 
■ — Who  follows  Homer,  takes  the  field  too  late  ; 
Though  stout  as  Hector,  sure  of  Hector's  fate, 
A  wound  as  from  Achilles'  spear  he  feels, 
Falls,  and  adorns  the  Grecian's  chariot-wheels. 

Nor  stay  we  monkish  legends  to  rehearse; 
To  build  their  cloister-walls  in  Gothic  verse; 
Of  groves  and  gardens,  wine  and  music,  tell; 
Fresh  roses  breathing  round  the  hermit's  cell, 
And  baths,  in  which  Diana's  nymphs  might  lave, 
—  From  earth's  self-opening  veins  the  blood-warm 

wave, 
Whose  genial  streams,  amidst  disparted  ice, 
Made  laps  of  verdure,  —  like  those  isles  of  spice 
In  eastern  seas ;  or  rich  oases,  graced 
With  flowers  and  fountains,  in  the  Libyan  waste. 

Rather  the  muse  would  stretch  a  mightier  wing, 
Of  a  new  world  the  earliest  dawn  to  sing; 


and  herds  were  numerous,  and  very  large  and  fat,  Ac.  At 
St.  Thomas's  Cloister,  there  was  a  natural  fountain  of  hot 
water  {& geyser),  which,  being  conveyed  by  pipes  into  all 
the  apartments  of  the  monks,  ministered  to  their  comfort 
in  many  ways.  Adjoiuing  this  cloister  there  was  a  richly 
cultivated  garden,  through  which  a  warm  rivulet  fluwed, 
and  rendered  the  soil  so  fertile,  that  it  produced  the  most 
beautiful  flowers  and  the  most  delicious  fruits. 


Canto  IV. 


GREENLAND. 


]2i 


How,  —  long  ere  Science,  in  a  dream  of  thought, 
Earth's  younger  (laughter  to  Columbus  brought, 
And  sent  him,  like  the  Faerie  Prince,  in  quest 
Of  that  "  bright  vestal  throned  in  the  west."  ' 
—  Greenland's  bold  sons,  by  instinct,  sallied  forth 
On  barks,  like  icebergs  drifting  from  the  north, 
Cross'd  without  magnet  undiscover*d  seas, 
And,  all  surrendering  to  the  stream  and  breeze, 
Toueh'd  on  the  line  of  that  twin-bodied  land 
That  stretches  forth  to  either  pole  a  hand, 
From  arctic  wilds  that  see  no  winter-sun 
To  where  the  oceans  of  the  world  are  one, 
And  round  Magellan's  straits,  Fuego's  shore, 
Atlantic,  Indian,  and  Pacific  roar. 

Regions  of  beauty  there  these  rovers  found  ; 
The  flowery  hills  with  emerald  woods  were  crown'd; 
Spread  o'er  the  vast  savannahs,  buffalo  herds 
Ranged  without  master  ;  and  the  bright-wing'd  birds 
Made  gay  the  sunshine  as  they  glanced  along, 
Or  turn'd  the  air  to  music  with  their  song. 

Here  from  his  mates  a  German  youth  had  stray'd, 
Where  the  broad  river  cleft  the  forest  glade  ; 
Swarming  with  alligator-shoals,  the  flood 
Blazed  in  the  sun,  or  moved  in  clouds  of  blood; 
The  wild  boar  rustled  headlong  through  the  brake  ; 
Like  a  live  arrow  leap'd  the  rattle-snake ; 

1  Spenser  introduces  Prince  Arthur  as  traversing  the 
world  in  search  of  his  mistress  Gloriana,  whom  he  had  only 
seen  in  a  dream.  The  discovery  of  a  region  in  the  west,  by 
the  Greenland  Norwegians,  about  the  year  1000,  and  intei'- 
oourse  maintained  with  it  for  120  years  afterwards,  may  be 
considered  as  the  most  curious  fact  or  fable  connected  with 
the  history  of  these  colonists.  The  reason  why  it  was 
called  Wineland,  is  given  in  the  context  above. 

An  Icelander,  named  Bioern,  in  the  year  1001,  following 
his  father,  who  had  emigrated  to  Greenland,  is  said  to  have 
been  driven  by  a  storm  to  the  south-west,  where  he  dis- 
covered a  fine  champaign  country  covered  with  forests.  He 
did  not  tarry  long  there,  but  made  the  best  of  his  way  back 
again,  north-east,  for  Greenland,  which  he  reached  in  safety. 
The  tidings  of  his  adventure  being  rumoured  abroad  there, 
one  Leif,  the  eon  of  Eric  the  Red,  a  famous  navigator, 
being  ambitious  of  acquiring  fame  by  discovering  and 
planting  new  lands,  fitted  out  a  vessel,  with  thirty-five 
men,  and  sailed  with  Bioern  on  board,  in  search  of  the 
south-west  country.  They  arrived,  in  due  time,  at  a  low 
woody  coast,  and  sailed  up  a  river  to  a  spacious  lake,  which 
communicated  by  it  with  the  sea.  The  soil  was  exceed- 
ingly fruitful,  the  waters  abounded  with  fish,  particularly 
salmon,  and  the  climate  was  mild.  Leif  and  his  party 
wintered  there,  and  observed  that,  on  the  shortest  day, 
the  sun  rose  about  eight  o'clock,  which  may  correspond 
with  Ihe  forty-ninth  degree  of  latitude,  and  denotes  the 
situation  of  Newfoundland,  or  the  river  St.  Laurence  in 


The  uncouth  shadow  of  the  climbing  bear 
Crawl'd  on  the  grass,  while  he  aspired  in  air; 
Anon  with  hoofs,  like  hail,  the  greenwood  rang, 
Among  the  scattering  deer  a  panther  sprang : 
The  stripling  fear'd  not,  —  yet  he  trod  with  awe, 
As  if  enchantment  breathed  o'er  all  he  saw, 
Till  in  his  path  uprose  a  wilding  vine ; 
—  Then  o'er  his  memory  rush'd  the  noble  Rhine; 
Home  and  its  joys,  with  fulness  of  delight, 
So  rapt  his  spirit,  so  beguiled  his  sight, 
That,  in  those  glens  of  savage  solitude,        [view'd, 
Vineyards    and    corn-fields,  towns    and    spires,  he 
And  through  the  image-chamber  of  his  soul 
The  days  of  other  years  like  shadows  stole : 
All  that  he  once  had  been,  again  he  grew  ; 
Through  every  stage  of  life  he  pass'd  anew; 
The  playmates  of  his  infancy  were  there, 
With  dimpled  cheeks,  blue  eyes,  and  flaxen  hair; 
The  blithe  companions  of  his  riper  youth, 
And  one  whose  heart  was  love,  whose  soul  was  truth. 
— When  the  quick-mingling  pictures  of  that  dream 
(Like  broken  scenery  on  a  troubled  stream, 
Where  sky  and  landscape,  light  and  darkness,  run 
Through  widening  circles,)  harmonised  in  one, 
His  father's  cot  appear'd,  with  vine-leaves  drest, 
And  clusters  pendent  round  the  swallow's  nest; 
In  front  the  little  garden,  at  whose  gate, 
Amidst  their  progeny,  his  parents  sate, 

Canada.  When  they  had  built  their  huts,  after  landing, 
they  one  day  missed  a  Gei'man  mariner  named  Tyrkcr, 
whom,  after  a  long  search,  they  found  in  the  woods,  dane- 
ing  with  delight.  On  being  asked  what  made  him  so 
merry,  he  answered,  that  he  had  been  eating  such  grapes 
as  those  of  which  wine  was  made  in  his  native  country. 
When  Leif  saw  and  tasted  the  fruit  himself,  he  called  the 
new  region  Viinland,  or  Wineland.  Crantz,  who  gives 
this  account,  on  various  authorities,  adds  in  a  note,  that 
"well-flavoured  wild  grapes  are  known  to  grow  in  the 
forests  of  Canada,  but  no  good  wine  has  been  produced 
from  them." — After  the  return  of  Leif  to  Greenland,  many 
voyages  were  undertaken  to  Wineland,  and  some  colonies 
established  there.  One  Thorfin,  an  Icelander,  who  had 
married  a  Greenland  heiress,  Gudrid,  the  widow  of  the 
third  son  of  Eric  the  Red,  by  Whom  he  obtained  the  in- 
heritance of  Wineland,  ventured  thither  with  sixty-five 
men  and  five  women;  taking  cattle  and  implements  of 
husbandry  with  them,  for  the  purpose  of  building  and 
planting.  The  natives  (probably  the  Esquimaux)  found 
them  thus  settled,  and  were  glad  to  barter  with  their  furs 
and  skins  in  exchange  for  iron  instruments,  &c.  One  of 
these  barbarians,  however,  having  stolen  an  axe,  was  dolt 
enough  to  try  its  edge  on  his  companion's  skull,  which 
cost  the  poor  wretch  his  life;  whereupon  a  third,  wiser  than 
either,  threw  the  murderous  weapon  into  the  sea.  —  Com- 
merce with  Wineland  is  reported  to  have  been  carried  on 
for  upwards  of  an  hundred  years  afterwards. 


122 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  IV. 


He  only  absent;  — but  his  mother's  eye 

Look'd  through  a  tear,  —  she  reach'd  him  with    a 

sigh  : 
Then  in  a  moment  vanish'd  time  and  space, 
And  with  a  shout  he  rush'd  to  her  embrace. 
Round  hills  and  dales  the  joyful  tidings  spread; 
All  ran  to  welcome  Tyrkeb  from  the  dead. 
With  bliss  inebriate,  in  that  giddy  trance, 
He  led  his  waltzing  partner  through  the  dance; 
And,  while  he  pluck'd  the  grapes  that  blush'd  at 

hand, 
Trod  the  rich  wine-press  in  his  native  land, 
Quaff'd  the  full  flowing  goblet,  loosed  his  tongue, 
And  songs  of  vintage,  harvest,  battle,  sung. 
At  length  his  shipmates  came :  their  laughter  broke 
The  gay  delusion  ;  in  alarm  he  'woke  : 
Transport  to  silent  melancholy  changed  ; 
At  once  from  love,  and  joy,  and  hope  estranged, 
O'er  his  blank  mind,  with  cold  bereaving  spell, 
Came  that  heart-sickness  which  no  tongue  can  tell ; 
—  Felt  when,  in  foreign  climes,  'midst  sounds  un- 
known, 
We  hear  the  speech  or  music  of  our  own, 
Roused  to  delight,  from  drear  abstraction  start, 
And  feel  our  country  beating  at  our  heart; 
The  rapture  of  a  moment ;  —  in  its  birth 
It  perishes  for  ever  from  the  earth  ; 
And  dumb,  like  shipwreck'd  mariners  we  stand, 
Eyeing  by  turns  the  ocean  and  the  land, 
Breathless ; — till  tears  the  struggling  thought  release, 
And  the  lorn  spirit  weeps  itself  to  peace. 

Wineland  the  glad  discoverers  call'd  that  shore, 
And  back  the  tidings  of  its  riches  bore; 
But  soon  return'd  with  colonising  bands, 
—  Men  that  at  home  would  sigh  for  unknown  lands  : 
Men  of  all  weathers,  fit  for  every  toil, 
War,  commerce,  pastime,  peace,  adventure,  spoil; 
Bold  master-spirits,  where  they  touch'd  they  gain'd 
Ascendance;  where  they  fix'd  their  foot  they  reign'd. 
Both  coasts  they  long  inherited,  though  wide 
Dissever'd ;  stemming  to  and  fro  the  tide, 
Free  as  the  Syrian  dove  explores  the  sky, 
Their  helm  their  hope,  their  compass  in  their  eye, 
They  found  at  will,  where'er  they  pleased  to  roam, 
The  ports  of  strangers  or  their  northern  home, 


i  The  ancestors  of  the  modern  Inhabitants  first  appeared 
on  the  western  coast  ofGreenlaud  in  the  fourteenth  century, 
and  are  generally  Bupposed  to  hare  overpowered  the  few 
Norwegians  scattered  in  that  quarter.    They  were  called 


Still  'midst  tempestuous  seas  and  zones  of  ice, 
Loved  as  their  own,  their  unlost  Paradise. 
— Yet  was  their  Paradise  for  ever  lost : 
War,  famine,  pestilence,  the  power  of  frost, 
Their  woes  combining,  wither'd  from  the  earth 
This  late  creation,  like  a  timeless  birth, 
The  fruit  of  age  and  weakness,  forced  to  light, 
Breathing  awhile,  —  relapsing  into  night. 

Ages  had  seen  the  vigorous  race,  that  sprung 
From    Norway's    stormy    forelands,    rock'd    when 

young 
In  ocean's  cradle,  hardening  as  they  rose, 
Like  mountain-pines  amidst  perennial  snows; 
— Ages  had  seen  these  sturdiest  sons  of  Time 
Strike  root  and  flourish  in  that  ruffian  clime, 
Commerce  with  lovelier  lands  and  wealthier  hold, 
Yet  spurn  the  lures  of  luxury  and  gold  ; 
Beneath  the  umbrage  of  the  Gallic  vine, 
For  moonlight  snows  and  cavern-shelter  pine  ; 
Turn  from  Campanian  fields  a  lofty  eye 
To  gaze  upon  the  glorious  Alps,  and  sigh, 
Remembering  Greenland;  more  and  more  endear'd, 
As  far  and  farther  from  its  shores  they  steer'd ; 
Greenland  their  world, — and  all  was  strange  beside ; 
Elsewhere  they  wander'd  :  here  they  lived  and  died. 

At  length  a  swarthy  tribe,  without  a  name, 
Unknown  the  point  of  windward  whence  they  came ; 
The  power  by  which  stupendous  gulfs  they  cross'd, 
Or  compass'd  wilds  of  everlasting  frost, 
Alike  mysterious;  —  found  their  sudden  way 
To  Greenland;  pour'd  along  the  western  bay 
Their  straggling  families  ;  and  seized  the  soil 
For  their  domain,  the  ocean  for  their  spoil. 
Skraellingt  the  Normans  call'd  these  hordes  in  scorn, 
That  seem'd  created  on  the  spot,  —  though  born 
In  trans-Atlantic  climes,  and  thither  brought 
By  paths  as  covert  as  the  birth  of  thought; 
They  were  at  once;  —  the  swallow-tribes  in  spring 
Thus  daily  multiply  upon  the  wing, 
As  if  the  air,  their  element  of  flight, 
Brought   forth    new  broods    from    darkness   every 

night; 
Slipt  from  the  secret  hand  of  Providence, 
They  come  we  see  not  how,  nor  know  we  whence.1 


Skraellings, — a  word  of  uncertain  etymology,  but  most  pro- 
bably  -a  corruption  of  Earallit,  or  people,  by  which  they  de- 
signated themselves.  Of  their  origin  nothing  csn  be  ascer- 
tained. It  seems,  on  the  whole,  not  incredible  (from  evidence 


Uaxto  IV. 


OIIEENLAND. 


123 


A  stunted,  stern,  uncouth,  amphibious  stock, 
Hewn  from  the  living  marble  of  the  rock, 
Or  sprung  from  mermaids,  and  in  ocean's  bed, 
With  ores  and  seals,  in  sunless  caverns  bred, 
They  might  have  held,  from  unrecorded  time, 
Sole  patrimony  in  that  hideous  clime, 
So  lithe  their  limbs,  so  fenced  their  frames  to  bear 
The  intensest  rigours  of  the  polar  air; 
Nimble,  and  muscular,  and  keen  to  run 
The  rein-deer  down  a  circuit  of  the  sun  ; 
To  climb  the  slippery  cliffs,  explore  their  cells, 
And  storm  and  sack  the  sea-birds'  citadels  ; 
In  bands,  through  snows,  the  mother-bear  to  trace, 
Slay  with  their  darts  the  cubs  in  her  embrace, 
And,  while  she  lick'd  their  bleeding  wounds,  to  brave 
Her  deadliest  vengeance  in  her  inmost  cave : 
Train'd  with  inimitable  skill  to  float, 
Each,  balanced  in  his  bubble  of  a  boat, 
With  dexterous  paddle  steering  through  the  spray, 
With  poised  harpoon  to  strike  his  plunging  prey, 
As  though  the  skiff,  the  seaman,  oar,  and  dart 
Were  one  compacted  body,  by  one  heart 
With  instinct,  motion,  pulse,  empower'd  to  ride 
A  human  nautilus  upon  the  tide ; 
Or  with  a  fleet  of  kayaks  to  assail 
The  desperation  of  the  stranded  whale, 

anil  arguments  which  need  not  he  quoted  here),  that  they 
are  the  descendants  of  Tartarean  rovers,  gradually  emigrat- 
ing from  the  heart  of  Asia,  crossing  over  into  West  America, 
traversing  the  northern  latitudes  of  that  continent,  and  set- 
tling or  wandering,  as  suited  their  convenience,  till  the  fore- 
most hordes  reached  Canada  and  Labrador ;  from  whence 
the  first  Skraellings  may  have  found  a  passage,  by  land  or 
sea,  to  Greenland.  That  the  Greenlanders  are  of  the  same 
stock  with  the  Esquimaux,  is  obvious  from  the  remarkable 
correspondence  between  their  persons,  dress,  habitations, 
boats,  and  implements  of  hunting  and  fishing,  as  well  as 
the  similarity  of  manners,  customs,  superstitions,  and 
language.  Of  these  more  may  be  said  hereafter,  should 
the  poem  of  "Greenland"  ever  be  completed.  Meanwhile 
the  slight  sketch  given  in  the  context  may  suffice.  The 
following  description  of  a  Greenlander's  fishing-boat,  or 
kayak,  will,  however,  be  useful  to  illustrate  the  passage. 
The  kayak  is  six  yards  in  length,  pointed  at  the  head  and 
stern,  and  shaped  like  awe  ver's  shuttle;  it  is  at  the  same 
time  scarcely  a  foot  and  a  half  broad  over  the  middle,  and 
not  more  than  a  foot  deep.  It  is  built  of  a  slender  skeleton 
of  wood,  consisting  of  a  keel,  and  long  side-laths,  with 
cross-ribs,  like  hoops,  but  not  quite  round.  The  whole  is 
covered  with  seal's  skin.  In  the  middle  of  this  covering 
there  is  a  round  aperture,  supported  with  a  strong  rim  of 
wood  or  bone.  The  Greenlander  slips  into  the  cavity  with 
his  feet,  and  sits  down  upon  a  board  covered  with  soft 
skin;  he  then  tucks  his  water-pelt,  or  great  coat,  so  tight 
about  him  (the  rim  of  the  opening  forming  a  girdle  round 
his  loins),  that  no  water  can  penetrate  into  his  little  skiff. 
His  lance,  harpoon,  and  fishing-tackle  arc  all  arranged  in 


When,  wedged  'twixt  jagged  rocks,  he  writhes  and 

rolls 
In  agony  among  the  ebbing  shoals, 
Lashing  the  waves  to  foam,  until  the  flood, 
From  wounds,  like  geysers,  seeins  a  bath  of  blood, 
Echo  all  night  dumb-pealing  to  his  roar, 
Till  morn  beholds  him  slain  along  the  shore. 

Of  these, — -hereafter  should  the  lyre  be  strung 
To  arctic  themes,  —  may  glorious  days  be  sung; 
Now  be  our  task  the  sad  reverse  to  tell, 
How  in  their  march  the  nobler  Normans  fell ;  * 
— Whether  by  dire  disease,  that  turn'd  the  breath 
Of  bounteous  heaven  to  pestilence  and  death, 
In  number,  strength,  and  spirit  worn  away, 
Their  lives  became  the  cool  assassin's  prey ; 

—  Or  in  the  battle-field,  as  Skraellings  boast, 
These  pigmies  put  to  flight  their  giant-host, 
When  front  to  front  on  scowling  cliS's  they  stood, 
And  shot  their  barbs  athwart  the  parting  flood; 
Arrow  smote  arrow,  dart  encounter'd  dart, 
From  hand  to  hand,  impaling  heart  for  heart; 
Till  spent  their  missiles  :  quick  as  in  a  dream 
The  images  are  changed ;  across  the  stream 
The  Skraellings  rush'd,  the  precipices  scaled ; 

—  O'erwhelm'd  by  multitudes,  the  Normans  fail'd  : 

due  order  before  him.  His  pautik,  or  oar,  (made  of  red 
deal,  and  strengthened  with  bone  inlaid,)  he  uses  with 
admirable  dexterity.  This,  except  when  he  is  using  his 
weapon,  he  grasps  with  both  hands  in  the  middle,  striking 
the  water  on  either  side  alternately,  by  which  means  he 
can  sail  at  the  rate  of  twenty  or  even  twenty-four  leagues 
a  day.  In  his  kayak  ihe  Greenlander  fears  no  storm,  so 
long  as  he  can  keep  his  oar,  which  enables  him  to  sit 
upright  among  the  roughest  breakers,  or  if  overturned, 
while  the  head  is  downward  under  water,  with  one  stroke 
he  can  recover  himself;  but  if  he  loses  his  oar,  in  a  high 
sea,  he  loses  all.  No  European  has  ever  yet  been  able  to 
learn  to  manage  a  kayak  except  in  calm  weather,  and 
when  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  row ;  to  fish  in  it 
has  been  found  impracticable  to  any  but  the  natives 
themselves,  trained  from  their  infancy  to  all  the  hardy 
exercises  which  constituted,  before  the  introduction  of 
Christianity,  the  whole  education  of  the  poor  bar- 
barians. 

1  The  incidents  alluded  to  in  this  clause  are  presumed  to 
have  occasioned  the  extinction  of  the  Norwegian  colonists 
on  the  western  coast  of  Greenland.  Crantz  says,  that  there 
is  a  district  on  Ball's  River  called  Pissiksarbik,  or  the  Efface 
of  arroivs ;  where  it  is  believed  that  the  Skraellings  and 
Norwegians  fought  a  battle,  in  which  the  latter  were  de- 
feated. The  modern  Greenlanders  affirm,  that  the  name 
is  derived  from  the  circumstance  of  the  parties  having 
shot  their  arrows  at  one  another  from  opposite  banks  of 
the  stream.  Many  rudera,  or  ruins  of  ancient  buildings, 
principally  supposed  to  have  been  churches,  are  found 
along  the  coast  from  Disko  Bay  to  Cape  Farewell. 


124 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  V. 


A  scatter'd  remnant  to  the  south  retired, 

But  one  by  one  along  their  route  expired : 

They  perish'd  ;  —  History  can  no  more  relate 

Of  their  obscure  and  unlamented  fate : 

They  perish'd  ;  — yet  along  that  western  shore, 

Where  Commerce  spread  her  colonies  of  yore, 

Ruins  of  temples  and  of  homes  are  traced, 

—  Steps  of  magnificence  amidst  the  waste 

Where  Time  hath  trod,  and  left  those  wrecks  to  show 

That  Life  hath  been,  where  all  is  Death  below. 


CANTO     FIFTH. 

The  Depopulation  of  the  Norwegian  Colonies  on  the 
Eastern  Coast  of  Greenland,  and  the  Abandonment 
of  Intercourse  with  it  from  Europe,  in  consequence 
of  the  Increase  of  the  Arctic  Ices,  about  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Fifteenth  Century. 

Launch  on  the  gulf,  my  little  Greenland  bark ! 

Bear  me  through  scenes  unutterably  dark; 

Scenes  with  the  mystery  of  Nature  seal'd, 

Nor  till  the  day  of  doom  to  be  reveal'd. 

What  though  the  spirits  of  the  arctic  gales 

Freeze  round  thy  prow,  or  fight  against  thy  sails, 

Safe  as  Arion,  whom  the  dolphin  bore, 

Enamour'd  of  his  music,  to  the  shore, 

On  thee  adventuring  o'er  an  unknown  main, 

I  raise  to  warring  elements  a  strain 

Of  kindred  harmony  :  —  0,  lend  your  breath, 

Ye  tempests !  while  I  sing  this  reign  of  death : 

Utter  dark  sayings  of  the  days  of  old ; 

In  parables  upon  my  harp  unfold 

Deeds  perish'd  from  remembrance;  truth,  array'd, 

Like  heaven  by  night,  in  emblematic  shade, 

When  shines  the  horoscope,  and  star  on  star 

By  what  they  are  not  lead  to  what  they  are; 

Atoms,  that  twinkle  in  an  infant's  eye, 

Are  worlds,  suns,  systems  in  the'  unbounded  siy  : 

Thus  the  few  fabled  woes  my  strains  create 

Are  hieroglyphics  in  a  book  of  Fate; 

And  while  the  shadowy  symbols  I  unroll, 

Imagination  reads  a  direr  scroll. 

Wake,  ye  wild  visions  !  o'er  the  northern  deep, 

On  clouds  and  winds,  like  warrior-spectres  sweep; 

Show  by  what  plagues  and  hurricanes  destroy'd, 

A  breathing  realm  became  a  torpid  void ! 

The  floods  arc  raging,  and  the  gales  blow  high, 
Low  as  a  dungeon-roof  impends  the  sky  ; 


Prisoners  of  hope,  between  the  clouds  and  waves. 

Six  fearless  sailors  man  yon  boat,  that  braves 

Peril  redoubling  upon  peril  past: 

—  From  childhood  nurslings  of  the  wayward  blast, 

Aloft  as  o'er  a  buoyant  arch  they  go, 

Whose   keystone   breaks ;  —  as    deep   they  plunge 

below ; 
Unyielding,  though  the  strength  of  man  be  vain ; 
Struggling,  though  borne  like  surf  along  the  main ; 
In  front,  a  battlement  of  rocks  ;  in  rear, 
Billow  on  billow  bounding :  near,  more  near, 
They  verge  to  ruin  ;  —  life  and  death  depend 
On  the  next  impulse  ;  —  shrieks  and  prayers  ascend ; 
When,  like  the  fish  that  mounts  on  drizzling  wings, 
Sheer  from  the  gulf  the'  ejected  vessel  springs, 
And  grounds  on  inland  ice,  beyond  the  track 
Of  hissing  foam-wreaths,  whence   the   tide   roll'd 

back; 
Then  ere  that  tide,  returning  to  the  charge, 
Swallows  the  wreck,  the  captives  are  at  large. 
On  either  hand  steep  hills  obstruct  their  path; 
Behind,  the  ocean  roaring  in  his  wrath, 
Mad  as  a  Libyan  wilderness  by  night, 
With  all  its  lions  up,  in  chase  or  fight. 
The  fugitives  right  onward  shun  the  beach, 
Nor  tarry  till  the  inmost  cove  they  reach; 
Recluded  in  the  labyrinthine  dell, 
Like  the  last  hollow  of  a  spiral  shell. 
There,  with  the  axe  or  knife  which  haste  could  save, 
They  build  a  house  :  —  perhaps  they  dig  a  grave  : 
Of  solid  snow,  well-squared,  and  piled  in  blocks, 
Brilliant  as  hewn  from  alabaster  rocks, 
Their  palace  rises,  narrowing  to  the  roof, 
And  freezes  into  marble,  tempest-proof; 
Night  closing  round,  within  its  shade  they  creep, 
And  weary  Nature  sinks  at  once  to  sleep. 

Oh  !  could  we  walk  amidst  their  dreams,  and  see 
All  that  they  have  been,  are,  or  wish  to  be, 
In  fancy's  world  !  —  each  at  his  own  fire-side  : 
One  greets  a  parent;  one  a  new-made  bride; 
Another  clasps  his  babe  with  fond  embrace, 
A  smile  in  slumber  mantling  o'er  his  face; 
All  dangers  are  forgotten  in  a  kiss. 
Or  but  remember'd  to  exalt  the  bliss. 
—  One  wounded  sufferer  wakes,  with  pain  opprest, 
Yet  are  his  thoughts  at  home  among  the  rest; 
Then  beams  his  eye,  his  heart  dilated  burns, 
Till  the  dark  vigil  to  a  vision  turns, 
That  vision  to  reality  :  and  home 
Is  so  endcar'd,  he  vows  no  more  to  roam. 


Canto  V. 


GREENLAND. 


125 


Ha!  suddenly  he  starts  :  with  trembling  lips, 

Salt  shower  drops,  oozing  through  the  roof,  he  sips : 

Aware  that  instant,  yet  alarm'd  too  late, 

—  The  sea  hath  burst  its  barrier,  fix'd  their  fate; 

Escape  impossible  :  the  tempests  urge 

Through  the  deep  dell  the  inundating  surge : 

Nor  wall  nor  roof  the'  impetuous  flood  controls ; 

Above,  around,  within,  the  deluge  rolls  : 

He  calls  his  comrades;  —  ere  their  doom  be  known, 

'Tis  past!  —  the  snow-house  utterly  o'erthrown, 

Its  inmates  vanish ;  never  to  be  found, 

Living  or  dead,  on  habitable  ground. 

There  is  a  beauteous  hamlet  in  the  vale  ; 
Green  are  the  fields  around  it ;  sweetly  sail 
The  twilight  shadows  o'er  the  darkening  scene, 
Earth,  air,  and  ocean,  all  alike  serene ; 
Dipp'd  in  the  hues  of  sunset,  wreathed  in  zones, 
The  clouds  are  resting  on  their  mountain-thrones : 
One  peak  alone  exalts  its  glacier  crest, 
A  golden  paradise,  above  the  rest ; 
Thither  the  day  with  lingering  steps  retires, 
And  in  its  own  blue  element  expires  : 
Thus  Aaron  laid  his  gorgeous  robes  aside 
On  Horeb's  consecrated  top,  and  died. 
The  moon,  meanwhile,  o'er  ocean's  sombre  bed, 
New-risen,  a  thousand  glow-worm  lights  hath  spread; 
From  east  to  west  the  wildfire  splendours  glance, 
And  all  the  billows  in  her  glory  dance; 
Till,  in  mid-heaven,  her  orb  might  seem  the  eye 
Of  Providence,  wide-watching  from  the  sky, 
While  Nature  slumbers  ;  ■ —  emblem  of  His  grace 
Whose  presence  fills  the  infinite  of  space. 

The  clouds  have  left  the  mountains  ;  coldly  bright, 
Their  icy  summits  shed  cerulean  light; 
The  steep  declivities  between  assume 
A  horror  of  unfathomable  gloom  : 
The  village  sleeps;  —  from  house  to  house,  the  ear 
Of  yonder  sentinel  no  sound  can  hear: 
A  maniac;  — he,  while  calmer  heads  repose, 
Takes  his  night-round,  to  tell  the  stars  his  woes; 
Woes  which  his  noble  heart  to  frenzy  stung; 
—  He  hath  no  bard,  and  they  remain  unsung. 
A  warrior  once,  victorious  arms  he  bore, 
And  bears  them  still,  although  his  wars  are  o'er; 
For  'tis  his  boast,  with  shield  and  sword  in  hand, 
To  be  the  guardian  Angel  of  the  land. 
Mark  with  what  stern  solemnity  he  stalks, 
And  to  himself,  as  to  a  legion,  talks  : 


Now  deep  in  council  with  his  chiefs;  anon 
He  starts,  as  at  the  trumpet;  leads  them  on, 
And  wins  the  day  ;  —  his  battle-shout  alarms 
None  but  the  infant  in  the  nurse's  arms; 
Soon  hush'd,  but  closer  to  her  side,  it  sleeps ; 
While  he  abroad  his  watch  in  silence  keeps. 

At  every  door  he  halts,  and  brings  a  sigh, 
But  leaves  a  blessing,  when  he  marches  by : 
He  stops ;  from  that  low  roof  a  deadly  groan 
Hath  made  unutterable  anguish  known; 
A  spirit  into  eternity  hath  pass'd; 
A  spouse,  a  father,  there  hath  breathed  his  last. 
The  widow  and  her  little  ones  weep  not ; 
In  its  excess  their  misery  is  forgot, 
One  dumb,  dark  moment;  —  then  from  all  their  eyes 
Rain  the  salt  tears,  and  loud  their  wailings  rise : 
Ah  !  little  think  that  family  forlorn 
How  brief  the  parting ;  —  they  shall  meet  ere  morn  ! 
For  lo  !  the  witness  of  their  pangs  hath  caught 
A  sight  that  startles  madness  into  thought : 
Back  from  their  gate  unconsciously  he  reels  ; 
A  resurrection  of  his  soul  he  feels. 
There  is  a  motion  in  the  air  :  his  eye 
Blinks  as  it  fear'd  the  falling  of  the  sky. 
The  splendid  peak  of  adamantine  ice, 
At  sunset  like  an  earthly  paradise, 
And  in  the  moon  of  such  empyrean  hue, 
It  seem'd  to  bring  the  unseen  world  to  view ; 

—  That   splendid   peak,  the  Power  (which  to  the 

spheres 
Had  piled  its  turrets  through  a  thousand  years) 
Touches  as  lightly  as  the  passing  wind, 
And  the  huge  mass,  o'erbalanced,  undermined, 
And  dislocated  from  its  base  of  snow, 
Slides  down  the  slope,  majestically  slow, 
Till,  o'er  the  precipice  down  headlong  sent, 
And  in  ten  thousand  thousand  spangles  rent, 
It  piles  a  hill  where  spread  a  vale  before  : 

—  From  rock  to  rock  the  echoes  round  the  shore 
Tell  with  their  deep  artillery  the  fate 

Of  the  whole  village  crush'd  beneath  its  weight. 

— The  sleepers  wake, — their  homes  in  ruins  hurl'd, — 

They  wake  — ■  from  death  into  another  world. 

The  gazing  maniac,  palsied  into  stone, 

Amidst  the  wreck  of  ice,  survives  alone ; 

A  sudden  interval  of  reason  gleams, 

Steady  and  clear,  amidst  his  wildering  dreams, 

But  shows  reality  in  such  a  shape, 

'T  were  rapture  back  to  frenzy  to  escape. 


126 


G  R  E  E  X  L  A  X  D . 


Canto  V. 


Again  the  clouds  of  desolation  roll, 
Blotting  all  old  remembrance  from  his  soul : 
Whate'er  his  sorrows  or  his  joys  have  been, 
His  spirit  grows  embodied  through  this  scene; 
With  eyes  of  agony,  and  clenching  hands, 
Fix'd  in  recoil,  a  frozen  form  he  stands, 
And,  smit  with  wonder  at  his  people's  doom, 
Becomes  the  monument  upon  their  tomb. 

Behold  a  scene,  magnificent  and  new; 
Xor  land  nor  water  meet  the'  excursive  view; 
The  round  horizon  girds  one  frozen  plain, 
The  mighty  tombstone  of  the  buried  main, 
Where,  dark  and  silent,  and  unfclt  to  flow, 
A  dead  sea  sleeps  with  all  its  tribes  below. 
But  heaven  is  still  itself;  the  deep-blue  sky 
Comes   down    with   smiles   to   meet   the   glancing 

eye, 
Though,  if  a  keener  sight  its  bound  would  trace, 
The  arch  recedes  through  everlasting  space. 
The  sun,  in  morning  glory,  mounts  his  throne, 
Xor  shines  he  here  in  solitude  unknown ; 
Xorth,  south,  and  west,  by  dogs  or  reindeer  drawn, 
Careering  sledges  cross  the'  unbroken  lawn, 
And  bring,  from  bays  and  forelands  round  the  coast, 
Youth,  beaut}-,  valour,  Greenland's  proudest  boast, 
Who  thus,  in  winter's  long  and  social  reign, 
Hold  feasts  and  tournaments  upon  the  main, 
When,  built  of  solid  floods,  his  bridge  extends 
A  highway  o'er  the  gulf  to  meeting  friends, 
Whom  rocks  impassable,  or  winds  and  tide, 
Fickle  and  false,  in  summer  months  divide. 

The   scene  runs  round  with  motion,  rings  with 
mirth, 
—  Xo  happier  spot  upon  the  peopled  earth; 
The  drifted  snow  to  dust  the  travellers  beat, 
The'  uneven  ice  is  flint  beneath  their  feet. 
Here  tents,  a  gay  encampment,  rise  around, 
Where  music,  song,  and  revelry  resound  ; 
There  the  blue  smoke  upwreathes  a  hundred  spires, 
Where  humbler  groups  have  lit  their  pine-wood  fires. 
Ere  long  they  quit  the  tables ;  knights  and  dames 
Lead  the  blithe  multitude  to  boisterous  games. 
Bears,  wolves,  and  lynxes  yonder  head  the  chase  : 
Here  start  the  harness'd  reindeer  in  the  race; 
Borne  without  wheels,  a  flight  of  rival  cars 
Track  the  ice-firmament,  like  shooting  stars, 
Right  to  the  goal,  —  converging  as  they  run, 
They  dwindle  through  the  distance  into  one. 


Where  smoother  waves  have  form'd  a  sea  of  glass, 

With  pantomimic  change  the  skaters  pass ; 

Xow  toil  like  ships  'gainst  wind  and  stream ;  then 

wheel 
Like  flames  blown  suddenly  asunder ;  reel 
Like  drunkards:  then,  dispersed  in  tangents  wide, 
Away  with  speed  invisible  they  glide. 
Peace  in  their  hearts,  death-weapons  in  their  hands, 
Fierce  in  mock-battle  meet  fraternal  bands, 
Whom  the  same  chiefs  erewhile  to  conflict  led, 
When  friends  by  friends,  by  kindred  kindred,  bled. 
Here  youthful  rings  with  pipe  and  drum  advance, 
And  foot  the  mazes  of  the  giddy  dance  : 
Gray-beard  spectators,  with  illumined  eye. 
Lean  on  their  staves,  and  talk  of  days  gone  by ; 
Children,  who  mimic  all,  from  pipe  and  drum 
To  chase  and  battle,  dream  of  years  to  come. 
Those  years  to  come,  the  young  shall  ne'er  behold; 
The  days  gone  by,  no  more  rejoice  the  old. 

There  is  a  boy,  a  solitary  boy, 
Who  takes  no  part  in  all  this  whirl  of  joy, 
Yet,  in  the  speechless  transport  of  his  soul, 
He  lives,  and  moves,  and  breathes  throughout  the 

whole : 
Him  should  destruction  spare,  the  plot  of  earth, 
That  forms  his  play-ground,  gave  a  poet  birth, 
Who,  on  the  wings  of  his  immortal  lays. 
Thine  heroes,  Greenland!  to  the  stars  shall  raise. 
It  must  not  be  :  — abruptly  from  the  show 
He  turns  his  eyes ;  his  thoughts  arc  gone  below 
To  sound  the  depths  of  ocean,  where  his  mind 
Creates  the  wonders  which  it  cannot  find. 
Listening,  as  oft  he  listens  in  a  shell 
To  the  mock  tide's  alternate  fall  and  swell, 
He  kneels  upon  the  ice,  —  inclines  his  ear, 
And  hears,  —  or  does  he  only  seem  to  hear?  — 
A  sound,  as  though  the  Genius  of  the  deep 
Heaved  a  long  sigh,  awaking  out  of  sleep. 
He  starts  ;  —  'twas  but  a  pulse  within  his  brain  ! 
Xo ;  —  for  he  feels  it  beat  through  every  vein  ; 
Groan  following  groan,  (as  from  a  giant's  breast, 
Beneath  a  burying  mountain,  ill  at  rest,) 
With  awe  ineffable  his  spirit  thrills, 
And  rapture  fires  his  blood,  while  terror  chills. 
The  keen  expression  of  his  eye  alarms 
His  mother;  she  hath  caught  him  in  her  arms, 
And    learn'd    the    cause;  —  that  cause    no    sooner 

known, 
From  lip  to  lip  o'er  many  a  league  is  flown ; 


Canto  V. 


GREENLAND. 


127 


Voices  to  voices,  prompt  as  signals,  rise 

In  shrieks  of  consternation  to  the  skies  : 

Those  skies,  meanwhile,  with  gathering  darkness 

scowl ; 
Hollow  and  winterly  the  bleak  winds  howl. 
—  From  morn  till  noon  had  ether  smiled  serene, 
Save  one  black-belted  cloud,  far  eastward  seen, 
Like  a  snow-mountain;  —  there  in  ambush  lay 
The'  undreaded  tempest,  panting  for  his  prey  : 
That   cloud   by  stealth    hath    through    the  welkin 

spread, 
And  hangs  in  meteor-twilight  over-head  ; 
At  foot,  beneath  the  adamantine  floor, 
Loose  in  their  prison-house  the  surges  roar : 
To  every  eye,  ear,  heart,  the'  alarm  is  given, 
And  landward  crowds,  (like  flocks  of  sea-fowl  driven, 
When  storms  are  on  the  wing,)  in  wild  affright, 
On  foot,  in  sledges,  urge  their  panic  flight, 
In  hope  the  refuge  of  the  shore  to  gain 
Ere  the  disruption  of  the  struggling  main, 
Foretold  by  many  a  stroke,  like  lightning  sent 
In  thunder,  through  the'  unstable  continent, 
Which  now,  elastic  on  the  swell  below, 
Rolls  high  in  undulation  to  and  fro. 
Men,  reindeer,  dogs,  the  giddy  impulse  feel, 
And,  jostling  headlong,  back  and  forward  reel : 
While  snow,  sleet,  hail,  or  whirling  gusts  of  wind, 
Exhaust,  bewilder,  stop  the  breath,  and  blind. 
All  is  dismay  and  uproar;  some  have  found 
Death  for  deliverance,  as  they  Ieap'd  on  ground 
Swept  back  into  the  flood  :  —  but  hope  is  vain  : 
Ere  half  the  fugitives  the  beach  can  gain, 
The  fix'd  ice,  severing  from  the  shore,  with  shocks 
Of  earthquake  violence,  bounds  against  the  rocks; 
Then  suddenly,  while  on  the  verge  they  stand, 
The  whole  recoils  for  ever  from  the  land, 
And  leaves  a  gulf  of  foam  along  the  shore, 
In  which  whoever  plunge  are  seen  no  more. 

Ocean,  meanwhile,  abroad  hath  burst  the  roof 
That  sepulchred  his  waves ;  he  bounds  aloof. 


i  The  principal  phenomena  described  in  this  disruption 
of  so  immense  a  breadth  of  iee,  are  introduced  on  the  au- 
thority of  an  authentic  narrative  of  a  journey  on  sledges 
along  the  coast  of  Labrador,  by  two  Moravian  missionaries 
and  a  number  of  Esquimaux,  in  the  year  1782.  The  first 
incident  in  this  canto,  the  destruction  of  the  snow-house, 
is  partly  borrowed  from  the  same  record. 

'2  The  icebergs,  both  fixed  and  floating,  present  the  most 
fantastic  and  magnificent  forms,  which  an  active  imagi- 
nation may  easily  convert  into  landscape  scenery.    CranU 


In  boiling  cataracts,  as  volcanoes  spout 

Their  fiery  fountains,  gush  the  waters  out; 

The  frame  of  ice  with  dire  explosion  rends, 

And  down  the'  abyss  the  mingled  crowd  descends. 

Heaven  !  from  this  closing  horror  hide  thy  light; 

Cast  thy  thick  mantle  o'er  it,  gracious  Night ! 

These  screams  of  mothers  with  their  infants  lost, 

These  groans  of  agony  from  wretches  tost 

On  rocks  and  whirlpools, — in  thy  storms  be  drown'd, 

The  crash  of  mountain-ice  to  atoms  ground, 

And  rage  of  elements  !  —  while  winds,  that  yell 

Like  demons,  peal  the  universal  knell, 

The  shrouding  waves  around  their  limbs  shall  spread, 

"And  Darkness  be  the  burier  of  the  dead." 

Their  pangs  are  o'er :  —  at  morn  the  tempests  cease, 

And  the  freed  ocean  rolls  himself  to  peace  ; 

Broad  to  the  sun  his  heaving  breast  expands, 

He  holds  his  mirror  to  a  hundred  lands ; 

While  cheering  gales  pursue  the  eager  chase 

Of  billows  round  immeasurable  space.1 

Where  are  the  multitudes  of  yesterday  ? 
At  morn  they  came ;  at  eve  they  pass'd  away. 
Yet  some  survive;  —  yon  castellated  pile 
Floats  on  the  surges,  like  a  fairy  isle : 
Pre-eminent  upon  its  peak,  behold, 
With  walls  of  amethyst  and  roofs  of  gold, 
The  semblance  of  a  city;  towers  and  spires 
Glance  in  the  firmament  with  opal  fires  : 
Prone  from  those  heights  pellucid  fountains  flow 
O'er  pearly  meads,  through  emerald  vales  below. 
No  lovelier  pageant  moves  beneath  the  sky,2 
Nor  one  so  mournful  to  the  nearer  eye; 
Here,  when  the  bitterness  of  death  had  pass'd 
O'er  others,  with  their  sledge  and  reindeer  cast, 
Five  wretched  ones,  in  dumb  despondence  wait 
The  lingering  issue  of  a  nameless  fate  ; 
A  bridal  party  :  —  mark  yon  reverend  sage 
In  the  brown  vigour  of  autumnal  age; 
His  daughter  in  her  prime;  the  youth,  who  won 
Her  love  by  miracles  of  prowess  done; 


says,  that  some  of  these  look  like  churches,  with  pillars, 
arches,  portals,  and  illuminated  windows;  others  like 
castles,  with  square  and  spiral  turrets.  A  third  class 
assumes  the  appearance  of  ships  in  full  sail,  to  which 
pilots  have  occasionally  gone  out  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
ducting them  into  harbour;  many  again  resemble  large 
islands,  with  hill  and  dale,  as  well  as  villages,  and  even 
cities,  built  upon  the  margin  of  the  sea.  Two  of  these 
stood  for  many  years  in  Disco  Bay,  which  the  Dutch 
whalers  called  Amsterdam  and  Haarlem. 


12S 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  V. 


With  these,  two  meet  companions  of  their  joy, 
Her  younger  sister,  and  a  gallant  boy, 
Who  hoped,  like  him,  a  gentle  heart  to  gain 
By  valorous  enterprise  on  land  or  main. 

—  These,  when  the  ocean-pavement  fail'd  their  feet, 
Sought  on  a  glacier's  crags  a  safe  retreat ; 

But  in  the  shock,  from  its  foundation  torn, 

That  mass  is  slowly  o'er  the  waters  borne, 

An  iceberg !  —  on  whose  verge  all  day  they  stand, 

And  eye  the  blank  horizon's  ring  for  land. 

All  night  around  a  dismal  flame  they  weep ; 

Their  sledge,  by  piecemeal,  lights  the  hoary  deep. 

Morn  brings  no  comfort :  at  her  dawn  expire 

The  latest  embers  of  their  latest  fire; 

For  warmth  and  food  the  patient  reindeer  bleeds, 

Happier  in  death  than  those  he  warms  and  feeds. 

—  How  long,  by  that  precarious  raft  upbuoy'd, 
They  blindly  drifted  on  a  shoreless  void; 

How  long  they  suffer'd,  or  how  soon  they  found 
Rest  in  the  gulf,  or  peace  on  living  ground ; 
— Whether,  by  hunger,  cold,  and  grief  consumed, 
They  perish'd  miserably  —  and,  unentomb'd, 
(While  on  that  frigid  bier  their  corses  lay,) 
Became  the  sea-fowl's  or  the  sea-bear's  prey ; 
— Whether  the  wasting  mound,  by  swift  degrees, 
Exhaled  in  mist  and  vanish'd  from  the  seas, 
While  they,  too  weak  to  struggle  even  in  death, 
Lock'd  in  each  other's  arms  resign'd  their  breath, 
And  their  white  skeletons,  beneath  the  wave, 
Lie  intertwined  in  one  sepulchral  cave; 

—  Or  meeting  some  Norwegian  bark  at  sea, 
They  deem'd  its  deck  a  world  of  liberty ; 

—  Or,  sunward  sailing,  on  green  Erin's  sod 
They  kneel'd,  and  worshipp'd  a  delivering  God, 
Where  yet  the  blood  they  brought  from  Greenland 

runs 
Among  the  noblest  of  our  sister's  sons, 

—  Is  all  unknown  :  —  their  iceberg  disappears 
Amidst  the  flood  of  unreturning  years. 

Ages  are  fled  ;  and  Greenland's  hour  draws  nigh  ; 
Seal'd  is  the  judgment;  all  her  race  must  die: 
Commerce  forsakes  the'  unvoyageable  seas, 
That  year  by  year  with  keener  rigour  freeze ; 

1  Greenland  has  been  supplied  with  fuel,  from  time 
immemorial,  brought  by  the  tide  from  the  northern 
shores  of  Asia,  and  other  regions,  probably  even  from 
California,  and  the  coast  of  America  towards  Behring's 
Straits.  This  annual  provision,  however,  has  gradually 
been  decreasing  for  some  years  past  (being  partly  inter- 
cepted  by  the  accumulation  of   ice)  on  the  shores  of 


The  embargoed  waves  in  narrower  channels  roll 
To  blue  Spitzbergen  and  the  utmost  pole : 
A  hundred  colonics,  erewhile  that  lay 
On  the  green  marge  of  many  a  shelter'd  bay, 
Lapse  to  the  wilderness;  their  tenants  throng 
Where  streams  in  summer,  turbulent  and  strong, 
With  molten  ice  from  inland  Alps  supplied, 
Hold  free  communion  with  the  breathing  tide, 
That  from  the  heart  of  ocean  sends  the  flood 
Of  living  water  round  the  world,  like  blood  : 
But  Greenland's  pulse  shall  slow  and  slower  beat, 
Till  the  last  spark  of  genial  warmth  retreat, 
And,  like  a  palsied  limb  of  Nature's  frame, 
Greenland  be  nothing  but  a  place  and  name. 
That  crisis  comes  :  the  wafted  fuel  fails  ; ' 
The  cattle  perish ;  famine  long  prevails ; 
With  torpid  sloth,  intenser  seasons  bind 
The  strength  of  muscle  and  the  spring  of  mind; 
Man  droops,  his  spirits  waste,  his  powers  decay, 
—  His  generation  soon  shall  pass  away. 

At  moonless  midnight,  on  this  naked  coast, 
How  beautiful  in  heaven  the  starry  host! 
With  lambent  brilliance  o'er  these  cloister-walls, 
Slant  from  the  firmament  a  meteor  falls; 
A  steadier  flame  from  yonder  beacon  streams, 
To  light  the  vessel,  seen  in  golden  dreams 
By  many  a  pining  wretch,  whose  slumbers  feign 
The  bliss  for  which  he  looks  at  morn  in  vain. 
Two  years  are  gone,  and  half  expired  a  third, 
(The  nation's  heart  is  sick  with  hope  deferr'd,) 
Since  last  for  Europe  sail'd  a  Greenland  prow, 
Her  whole  marine,  —  so  shorn  is  Greenland  now, 
Though  once,  like  clouds  in  ether  unconfined, 
Her  naval  wings  were  spread  to  every  wind. 
The  monk  who  sits,  the  weary  hours  to  count, 
In  the  lone  block-house  on  the  beacon-mount, 
Watching  the  east,  beholds  the  morning  star 
Eclipsed  at  rising  o'er  the  waves  afar, 
As  if — for  so  would  fond  expectance  think  — 
A  sail  had  cross'd  it  on  the'  horizon's  brink. 
His  fervent  soul,  in  ecstasy  outdrawn, 
Glows   with   the   shadows   kindling    through    the 
dawn, 

modern  Greenland,  towards  Davis's  Straits.  Should  it 
fail  altogether,  that  country  (like  the  east)  munt  be- 
come uninhabitable;  as  the  natives  themselves  employ 
wood  in  the  construction  of  their  houses,  their  boats, 
and  their  implements  of  fishing,  hunting,  and  shoot- 
ing, and  could  not  find  any  adequate  substitute  for  it  at 
home. 


Canto  V. 


GREENLAND. 


129 


Till  every  bird  that  flashes  through  the  brine 
Appears  an  arui'J  and  gallant  brigantine; 
And  every  sound  along  the  air  that  comes, 
The  voice  of  clarions  and  the  roll  of  drums. 

—  'Tis  she  !  'tis  she  !  the  well-known  keel  at  last, 
With  Greenland's  banner  streaming  at  the  mast; 
The  full-swoln  sails,  the  spring-tide,  and  the  breeze, 
Waft  on  her  way  the  pilgrim  of  the  seas. 

The  monks  at  matins,  issuing  from  their  cells, 
Spread  the  glad  tidings ;  while  their  convent-bells 
Wake  town  and  country,  sea  and  shore,  to  bliss 
Unknown  for  years  on  any  morn  but  this. 
Men,  women,  children,  throng  the  joyous  strand, 
Whose  mob  of  moving  shadows  o'er  the  sand 
Lengthen  to  giants,  while  the  hovering  sun 
Lights  up  a  thousand  radiant  points  from  one. 
The  pilots  launch  their  boats  :  —  a  race  !  a  race  ! 
The  strife  of  oars  is  seen  in  every  face  ; 
Arm  against  arm  puts  forth  its  might  to  reach, 
And  guide  the  welcome  stranger  to  the  beach. 

—  Shouts   from   the   shore,   the   cliffs,    the    boats, 

arise ; 
No  voice,  no  signal,  from  the  ship  replies ; 
Nor  on  the  deck,  the  3-ards,  the  bow,  the  stern, 
Can  keenest  eye  a  human  form  discern. 
Oh !  that  those  eyes  were  open'd,  there  to  see 
IIow,  in  serene  and  dreadful  majesty, 
Sits  the  destroying  Angel  at  the  helm  ! 

—  He,  who  hath  lately  march'd  from  realm  to  realm, 
And,  from  the  palace  to  the  peasant's  shed, 
Made  all  the  living  kindred  to  the  dead: 

Nor  man  alone,  —  dumb  nature  felt  bis  wrath, 
Drought,   mildew,    murrain,    strew'd   his    carnage- 
path  ; 
Harvest  and  vintage  cast  their  timeless  fruit, 
Forests  before  him  wither'd  from  the  root. 
To  Greenland  now,  with  unexhausted  power, 
He  comes  commission'd;  and  in  evil  hour 
Propitious  elements  prepare  his  way; 
His  day  of  landing  is  a  festal  day. 

A  boat  arrives  ;  —  to  those  who  scale  the  deck, 
Of  life  appears  but  one  disastrous  wreck  ! 
FalPn  from  the  rudder,  which  he  fain  had  grasp'd, 
But  stronger  Death  his  wrestling  hold  unclasp"d, 
The  film  of  darkness  freezing  o'er  his  e3res, 
A  lukewarm  corpse,  the  brave  commander  lies; 


1  The  depopulation  of  Old  Greenland  is  supposed  to  have 
been  greatly  accelerated  by  the  introduction  of  the  plague, 
9 


Survivor  sole  of  all  his  buried  crew, 

Whom  one  by  one  the  rife  contagion  slew, 

Just  when  the  cliffs  of  Greenland  cheer'd  his  sight, 

Even  from  their  pinnacle  his  soul  took  flight. 

Chill'd  at  the  spectacle,  the  pilots  gaze 

One  on  another,  lost  in  blank  amaze  ; 

But,  from  approaching  boats  when  rivals  throng, 

They  seize  the  helm,  in  silence  steer  along, 

And  cast  their  anchor,  'midst  exulting  cries, 

That  make  the  rocks  the  echoes  of  the  skies, 

Till  the  mysterious  signs  of  woes  to  come, 

Circled  by  whispers,  strike  the  uproar  dumb. 

Rumour  affirms,  that  by  some  heinous  spell 

Of  Lapland  witches,  crew  and  captain  fell ; 

None  guess  the  secret  of  perfidious  fate, 

Which  all  shall  know  too  soon, — yet  know  too  late. 


The  monks,  who  claim  the  ship,  divide  the  stores 
Of  food  and  raiment  at  their  convent-doors. 

—  A  mother,  hastening  to  her  cheerless  shed, 
Breaks  to  her  little  ones  untasted  bread  ; 
Clamorous  as  nestling-birds,  the  hungry  band 
Receive  a  mortal  portion  at  her  hand : 

On  each  would  equal  love  the  best  confer, 

Each  by  distinct  affection  dear  to  her ; 

One  the  first  pledge  that  to  her  spouse  she  gave, 

And  one  unborn  till  he  was  in  his  grave ; 

This  was  his  darling,  that  to  her  most  kind; 

A  lit'th  was  uneo  a  twin,  the  sixth  is  blind  : 

In  each  she  lives;  —  in  each  by  turns  she  dies; 

Smitten  by  pestilence  before  her  eyes, 

Three  days,  and  all  are  slain;  —  the  heaviest  doom 

Is  hers :  their  ice-barr'd  cottage  is  their  tomb. 

—  The  wretch  whoso  limbs  are  impotent  with  cold, 
In  the  warm  comfort  of  a  mantle  roll'd, 

Lies  down  to  slumber  on  his  soul's  desire ; 
But  wakes  at  morn,  as  wrapt  in  flames  of  fire : 
Not  Hercules,  when  from  his  breast  he  tore 
The  cloak  envenom'd  with  the  Centaur's  gore, 
Felt  sharper  pangs  than  he,  who,  mad  with  rage, 
Dives  in  the  gulf,  or  rolls  in  snow,  to'  assuage 
His  quenchless  agony;  the  rankling  dart 
Within  him  burns  till  it  consumes  his  heart. 
From  vale  to  vale  the'  affrighted  victims  fly, 
But  catch  or  give  the  plague  with  every  sigh  ; 
A  touch  contaminates  the  purest  veins, 
Till  the  Black  Death  through  all  the  region  reigns.1 


wliirh. underthename of the/?/i;rtZ>.'crW(.mnrtc(h'(>adf ill  havoc 
throughout  Europe  toward*  the  close  of  the  14th  century. 


130 


GREENLAND. 


Canto  V. 


Comes  there  no  ship  again  to  Greenland's  shore? 
There  conies  another:  —  there  shall  come  no  more; 
Nor  this  shall  reach  an  haven  : — What  are  these 
Stupendous  monuments  upon  the  seas? 
Works  of  Omnipotence,  in  wondrous  forms, 
Immovable  as  mountains  in  the  storms  ? 
Far  as  Imagination's  eye  can  roll, 
One  range  of  Alpine  glaciers  to  the  pole 
Flanks   the  whole    eastern    coast;   and,  branching 

wide, 
Arches  o'er  many  a  league  the  indignant  tide, 
That  works  and  frets,  with  unavailing  flow, 
To  mine  a  passage  to  the  beach  below  ; 
Thence  from  its  neck  that  winter-yoke  to  rend, 
And  down  the  gulf  the  crashing  fragments  send. 
There  lies  a  vessel  in  this  realm  of  frost, 
Not  wreck'd,  nor  stranded,  yet  for  ever  lost : 
Its  keel  embedded  in  the  solid  mass  ; 
Its  glistening  sails  appear  expanded  glass ; 
The  transverse  ropes  with  pearls  enormous  strung, 
The  yards  with  icicles  grotesquely  hung, 
Wrapt  in  the  topmost  shrouds  there  rests  a  boy, 
His  old  sea-faring  father's  only  joy  : 
Sprung  from  a  race  of  rovers,  ocean-born, 
Nursed  at  the  helm,  he  trod  dry  land  with  scorn  ; 
Through  fourscore  years  from  port  to  port  he  veer'd, 
Quicksand,  nor  rock,  nor  foe,  nor  tempest  fear'd ; 
Now  cast  ashore,  though  like  a  hulk  he  lie, 
His  son  at  sea  is  ever  in  his  eye, 
And  his  prophetic  thought,  from  age  to  age, 
Esteems  the  waves  his  offspring's  heritage  : 
He  ne'er  shall  know,  in  his  Norwegian  cot, 
How  brief  that  son's  career,  how  strange  his  lot; 
Writhed  round  the  mast,  and  sepulchred  in  air, 
Him  shall  no  worm  devour,  no  vulture  tear; 
Congeal'd  to  adamant,  his  frame  shall  last, 
Though  empires  change,  till  time  and  tide  be  past. 

On  deck,  in  groups  embracing  as  they  died, 
Singly,  erect,  or  slumbering  side  by  side, 
Behold  the  crew!  —  They  sail'd,  with  hope  elate, 
For  eastern  Greenland;  till,  ensnared  by  fate, 
In  toils  that  mock'd  their  utmost  strength  and  skill, 
They  felt,  as  by  a  charm,  their  ship  stand  still : 

>  The  Danish  Chronicle  says,  that  the  Greenland  colonists 
were  tributary  to  the  kings  of  Norway  from  the  year  1028; 
soon  after  which  they  embraced  Christianity.  In  its  more 
flourishing  period  this  province  is  stated  to  have  been  di- 
vided into  a  hundred  parishes,  under  the  superintendence 
of  a  bishop.    From  11J0  to  140S  the  succession  of  seventeen 


The  madness  of  the  wildest  gale  that  blows 

Were  mercy  to  that  shudder  of  repose, 

When  withering  horror  struck  from  heart  to  heart 

The  blunt  rebound  of  Death's  benumbing  dart, 

And  each,  a  petrifaction  at  his  post, 

Look'd  on  yon  father,  and  gave  up  the  ghost:1 

He,  meekly  kneeling,  with  his  hands  upraised, 

His  beard  of  driven  snow,  eyes  fix'u  and  glazed, 

Alone  among  the  dead  shall  yet  survive, 

—  The'  imperishable  dead,  that  seem  alive; 

—  The'  immortal  dead,  whose  spirits,  breaking  free, 
Bore  his  last  words  into  eternity, 

While  with  a  seraph's  zeal,  a  Christian's  love, 

Till  his  tongue  fail'd,  he  spoke  of  joys  above. 

Now  motionless,  amidst  the  icy  air, 

He  breathes  from  marble  lips  unutter'd  prayer. 

The  clouds  condensed,  with  dark  unbroken  hue 

Of  stormy  purple,  overhang  his  view, 

Save  in  the  west,  to  which  he  strains  bis  sight, 

One  golden  streak,  that  grows  intensely  bright, 

Till  thence  the'  emerging  sun,  with  lightning  blaze, 

Pours  the  whole  quiver  of  his  arrowy  rays ; 

The  smitten  rocks  to  instant  diamond  turn, 

And  round  the'  expiring  saint  such  visions  burn 

As  if  the  gates  of  Paradise  were  thrown 

Wide  open  to  receive  his  soul; — — 'tis  flown: 

The  glory  vanishes,  and  over  all 

Cimmerian  darkness  spreads  her  funeral  pall ! 

Morn  shall  return,  and  noon,  and  eve,  and  night 
Meet  here  with  interchanging  shade  and  light: 
But  from  this  bark  no  timber  shall  decay, 
Of  these  cold  forms  no  feature  pass  away; 
Perennial  ice  around  the'  encrusted  bow, 
The    peopled   deck,   and    full-rigg'd    masts,   shall 

grow, 
Till  from  the  sun  himself  the  whole  be  hid, 
Or  spied  beneath  a  crystal  pyramid; 
As  in  pure  amber,  with  divergent  lines, 
A  rugged  shell  emboss'd  with  sea-weed  shines. 
From  age  to  age  increased  with  annual  snow, 
This  new  J/on(  Blanc  among  the  clouds  may  glow, 
Whose  conic  peak,  that  earliest  greets  the  dawn, 
And  latest  from  the  sun's  shut  eye  withdrawn, 

bishops  is  recorded.     In  the  last-mentioned  year.  .Andrew,  I 

ordained  bishop  of  Greenland   by  Askill.  archbishop  of  { 

Dronlheim,  sailed  for  his  diocese,  but  whether  he  arrived  ! 

there,  or  was  cast  away,  was  never  known.    To  his  inia-  ! 
gined  fate  this  episode  alludes. 


Canto  V. 


GREENLAND. 


131 


Shall  from  the  zenith,  through  incumbent  gloom, 

Burn  like  a  lamp  upon  this  naval  tomb. 

But   when    the'    archangel's    trumpet    sounds    on 

high, 
The  pile  shall  burst  to  atoms  through  the  sky, 
And  leave  its  dead,  upstarting  at  the  call, 
Naked  and  pale,  before  the  Judge  of  all. 

Once  more  to  Greenland's  long-forsaken  beach, 
Which  foot  of  man  again  shall  never  reach, 
Imagination  wings  her  flight,  explores 
The  march  of  Pestilence  along  the  shores,  \ 
And  sees  how  Famine  in  his  steps  hath  paced, 
While  Winter  laid  the  soil  for  ever  waste. 
Dwellings  are  heaps  of  fall'n  or  falling  stones, 
The  charnel-houses  of  unburied  bones. 
On  which  obscene  and  prowling  monsters  fed, 
But,  with  the  ravin  in  their  jaws,  fell  dead. 
Thus  while  Destruction,  blasting  youth  and  age, 
Raged  till  it  wanted  victims  for  its  rage, — 
Love,  the  last  feeling  that  from  life  retires, 
Blew  the  faint  spark  of  his  unfuell'd  fires. 
In  the  cold  sunshine  of  yon  narrow  dell 
Affection  lingers;  —  there  two  lovers  dwell, 
Greenland's  whole  family  :  nor  long  forlorn  ; 
There  comes  a  visitant, —  a  babe  is  born. 
O'er  his  meek  helplessness  the  parents  smiled ; 
'Twas  Hope;  —  for  Hope  is  every  mother's  child: 
Then  seem'd  they,  in  that  world  of  solitude, 
The  Eve  and  Adam  of  a  race  renew'd. 
Brief  happiness  !  too  perilous  to  last; 
The  moon  hath  wax'd  and  waned,  and  all  is  past : 
Behold  the  end:  —  one  morn,  athwart  the  wall, 
They  mark'd  the  shadow  of  a  reindeer  fall, 
Bounding  in  tameless  freedom  o'er  the  snow; 
The  father  track'd  him,  and  with  fatal  bow 
Smote  down  the  victim  ;  but  before  his  eyes, 
A  rabid  she-bear  pounced  upon  the  prize; 
A  shaft  into  the  spoiler's  flank  he  sent, 
She  turn'd  in  "wrath,  and  limb  from  limb  had  rent 
The  hunter,- — but  Ms  dagger's  plunging  steel 
With  riven  bosom  made  the  monster  reel; 


Unvanquish'd,  both  to  closer  combat  flew, 
Assailants  each,  till  each  the  other  slew : 
Mingling  their  blood  from  mutual  wounds,  they  lay 
Stretch'd  on  the  carcass  of  their  antler'd  prey. 

Meanwhile  his  partner  waits,  her  heart  at  rest, 
No  burden  but  her  infant  on  her  breast: 
With  him  she  slumbers,  or  with  him  she  plays, 
And  tells  him  all  her  dreams  of  future  days, 
Asks  him  a  thousand  questions,  feigns  replies, 
And  reads  whate'er  she  wishes  in  his  eyes. 
—  Red  evening  comes;  no  husband's  shadow  falls 
Where  fell  the  reindeer's  on  the  latticed  walls : 
'Tis  night;  no  footstep  sounds  towards  her  door: 
The  day  returns, — but  he  returns  no  more. 
In  frenzy,  forth  she  sallies;  and  with  cries, 
To  which  no  voice  except  her  own  replies 
In  frightful  echoes,  starting  all  around, 
Where  human  voice  again  shall  never  sound, 
She  seeks  him,  finds  him  not :  some  angel-guide 
In  mercy  turns  her  from  the  corpse  aside ; 
Perhaps  his  own  freed  spirit,  lingering  near, 
Who  waits  to  waft  her  to  a  happier  sphere, 
But  leads  her  first,  at  evening,  to  their  cot, 
Where  lies  the  little  one,  all  day  forgot; 
Imparadised  in  sleep  she  finds  him  there, 
Kisses  his  cheek,  and  breathes  a  mother's  prayer. 
Three  days  she  languishes,  nor  can  she  shed 
One  tear,  between  the  living  and  the  dead : 
When  her  lost  spouse  comes  o'er  the  widow's  thought, 
The  pangs  of  memory  are  to  madness  wrought; 
But  when  her  suckling's  eager  lips  are  felt, 
Her  heart  would  fain  —  but  oh  !  it  cannot — melt; 
At  length  it  breaks,  while  on  her  lap  he  lies, 
With  baby-wonder  gazing  in  her  eyes. 
Poor  orphan  !  mine  is  not  a  hand  to  trace 
Thy  little  story,  last  of  all  thy  race ! 
Not  long  thy  sufferings  ;  cold  and  colder  grown, 
The  arms  that  clasp  thee  chill  thy  limbs  to  stone. 
— 'Tis  done:  —  from  Greenland's   coast,  the  latest 

sigh 
Bore  infant  innocence  beyond  the  sky. 


132 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND 


A  POEM,  IN   NINE  CANTOS. 


PREFACE. 

The  subject  of  "The  Pelican  Island"  was  sug- 
gested by  a  passage  in  Captain  Flinders's  Voyage  to 
Terra  Australia    Describing  one  of  those  numerous 
gulfs  which  indent  the  coast  of  New  Holland,  and 
are  thickly  spotted  with  small  islands,  he  says  — 
"Upon  two  of  these  we  found  many  young  Pelicans 
unable  to  fly.     Flocks  of  the  old  birds  were  sitting 
upon  the  beaches   of  the  lagoon,  and  it  appeared    . 
that  the  islands  were  their  breeding-places;  not  only    | 
so,  but,  from  the  number  of  skeletons  and  bones    ! 
there  scattered,  it  should  seem  that  for  ages  these 
had   been  selected  for  the   closing   scene   of  their 
existence.     Certainly,  none  more  likely  to  be  free 
from  disturbance    of  every  kind  could   have  been 
chosen,  than  these  islets  of  a  hidden  lagoon  of  an 
uninhabited  island  [called  by  Captain  F.  'Kangaroo 
Island,']  situate  upon  an  unknown  coast,  near  the 
antipodes    of  Europe ;    nor  can  anything  be  more 
consonant  to  their  feelings,  if  Pelicans  have  any, 
than  quietly  to  resign  their  breath,  surrounded  by 
their  progeny,  and  in  the  same  spot  where  they  first 
drew  it."— Captain  Flinders  was  particularly  struck 
with  the  appearance  of  one  of  these  islands,  on  the 
surface  of  which  were  scattered  the  relics  of  a  great 
number  of  trees,  prostrated   by  some    tremendous 
storm,  or,  as   he   conjectured,  self-ignited   by   the 
friction  of  dead  branches  in  a  strong  wind.     This 
fact   (adopting   the   former   hypothesis)    suggested 
the  catastrophe  described  at  the  close  of  the  Third 
Canto  of  the  poem. 

Having  determined  not  to  encumber  his  volume 
with  notes,  which  might  plausibly  have  been  done 
to  a  great  extent- and  believing  that  those  readers 
who  shall  be  sufficiently  interested  in  the  poem  to 
desire  further  knowledge  of  the  subjects  progres- 
sively reviewed  in  it,  may  readily  satisfy  themselves 
from  popular  books  of  voyages,  and  natural  history, 
—  the  Author  will  merely  offer,  in  this  place,  an 
illustration  of  the  nature  of  coral  reefs,  extracted 


from  Captain  Basil  Hall's  Voyage  to  the  Island  of 

Loo  Choo,  in  the  Chinese  Sea:  — 

"The   examination    of  a   coral   reef  during  the 
different  stages  of  one  tide  is  particularly  interest- 
ing.    When  the  tide   has  left  it  for  some  time,  it 
becomes  dry,  and   appears   to  be  a  compact  rock, 
exceedingly  hard  and  ragged:  but  as  the  tide  rises, 
and   the   waves    begin    to  wash  over  it,  the   coral 
worms   protrude  themselves  from  holes  which  be- 
fore were  invisible.     These  animals  are  of  a  great 
variety  of  shapes  and  sizes,  and  in  such  prodigious 
numbers  that,  in  a  short  time,  the  whole  surface  of 
the  rock  appears  to  be  alive  and  in  motion.     The 
most  common  worm  is  in  the  form  of  a  star,  with 
arms  from  four  to  six  inches  long,  which  are  moved 
about  with   a   rapid  motion  in  all  directions,  pro- 
bably to  catch  food.     Others  are  so  sluggish,  tbst 
they  may  be  mistaken  for  pieces  of  the  rock  . 
are  -cnerally  of  a  dark  colour,  and  from  four  to 
inches  long,  and   two  or  three  round.     When  the 
coral  is  broken  about  high-water  mark,  it  is  a  solid 
hard  stone;  but  if  any  part  of  it  be  detached  at  a 
spot  which  the  tide  reaches  every  day,  it  is  found 
to  be  full  of  worms  of  different  lengths  and  colours, 
j  some   being  as  fine  as  a  thread,  and   several   feet 
Ion-',  of  a  bright  yellow  and  sometimes  of  a  blue 
colour;    others  resemble    snails,  and  some  are  not 
I  unlike  lobsters  in  shape,  but  soft,  and  not  above  two 
inches  long. 

-The  growth  of  coral  appears  to  cease  when  the 
worm  is  no  longer  exposed  to  the  washing  of  the 
sea.  Thus  a  reef  rises  in  the  form  of  a  cauliflower, 
till  its  top  has  gained  the  level  of  the  highest  tides, 
above  which  the  worm  has  no  power  to  advance, 
and  the  reef  of  course  no  longer  extends  itself  up- 
wards. The  other  parts  in  succession  reach  the 
surface,  and  there  stop,  forming  in  time  a  level  field 
with  steep  sides  all  round.  The  reef,  however, 
continually  increases,  and,  being  prevented  from 
growing  higher,  extends  itself  laterally  m  all  direc- 
tions.    Put  the  growth  being  as  rapid  at  the  upper 


Canto  I. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


133 


edge  as  it  is  lower  down,  the  steepness  of  the  face 
of  the  reef  is  still  preserved.  These  are  the  cir- 
cumstances which  render  coral  reefs  so  dangerous 
in  navigation  ;  for,  in  the  first  place,  they  are  seldom 
seen  above  the  water;  and,  in  the  next,  their  sides 
are  so  steep,  that  a  ship's  bow  may  strike  against 
the  rock  before  any  change  of  soundings  has  given 
warning  of  the  danger." 

With  these  brief  quotations  to  explain  the  two  prin- 
cipal circumstances  on  which  the  poem  is  founded, 
the  Author  abandons  his  "  Pelican  Island  "  to 
the  judgment  of  the  public,  having  no  hope  to  con- 
ciliate favour  by  apology  or  vindication,  where  he 
has  painfully  felt  that  both  would  be  necessary  if 
the  success  or  failure  of  his  work  did  not  wholly 
depend  on  the  manner  in  which  it  has  been  exe- 
cuted. He  only  requests  the  reader  to  bear  in  mind 
that  the  narrative  is  supposed  to  be  delivered,  by  the 
imaginary  being  who  witnesses  the  series  of  events, 
after  the  whole  has  happened,  and  who  therefore 
describes  them  in  such  language,  and  with  such  illus- 
trations, as  the  knowledge  which  he  then  possessed 
enabled  him  to  use, — whether  he  be  identified  with 
the  Author,  or  (if  the  latter  will  so  far  condescend) 
with  the  Reader  himself,  as  spectator,  actor,  thinker, 
in  this  masquerade  of 

"  Truth  severe  by  fairy-fiction  drest." 
Sheffield,  July,  19, 1827. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 

CANTO   FIRST. 

Methougdt  I  lived  through  ages,  and  beheld 

Their  generations  pass  so  swiftly  by  mc, 

That  years  were  moments  in  their  flight,  and  hours 

The  scenes  of  crowded  centuries  reveal'd ; 

While  Time,  Life,  Death,  the  world's  great  actors, 

wrought 
New  and  amazing  changes:  —  these  I  sing. 

Sky,  sun,  and  sea,  were  all  the  universe;  — 
The  sky,  one  blue  interminable  arch, 
Without  a  breeze,  a  wing,  a  cloud;  the  sun 
Sole  in  the  firmament,  but  in  the  deep 
Redoubled ;  where  the  circle  of  the  sea, 
Invisible  with  calmness,  seem'd  to  lie 
Within  the  hollow  of  a  lower  Ileaven. 


I  was  a  spirit  in  the  midst  of  these, 
All  eye,  car,  thought;  existence  was  enjoyment; 
Light  was  an  element  of  life,  and  air 
The  clothing  of  my  incorporeal  form, — 
A  form  impalpable  to  mortal  touch, 
And  volatile  as  fragrance  from  the  flower, 
Or  music  in  the  woodlands.     What  the  soul 
Can  make  itself  at  pleasure,  that  I  was; 
A  child  in  feeling  and  imagination, 
Learning  new  lessons  still,  as  Naturo  wrought 
Her  wonders  in  my  presence.     All  I  saw 
(Like  Adam  when  he  walk'd  in  Paradise) 
I  knew  and  named  by  secret  intuition. 
Actor,  spectator,  sufferer,  each  in  turn, 
I  ranged,  explored,  reflected.     Now  I  sail'd, 
And  now  I  soar'd;  anon  expanding,  seem'd 
Diffused  into  immensity,  yet  bound 
Within  a  space  too  narrow  for  desire ; 
The  mind,  the  mind,  perpetual  themes  must  task, 
Perpetual  power  impel,  and  hope  allure. 
I  and  the  silent  sun  were  here  alone, 
But  not  companions  ;  high  and  bright  he  held 
His  course ;  I  gazed  with  admiration  on  him, — 
There  all  communion  ended;  and  I  sigh'd, 
In  loneliness  unutterable  sigh'd, 
To  feel  myself  a  wanderer  without  aim, 
An  exile  amidst  splendid  desolation, 
A  prisoner  with  infinity  surrounded. 

The  sun  descended,  dipp'd,  and  disappear'd; 
Then  sky  and  sea  were  all  the  universe, 
And  I  the  only  being  in  existence  ! 
So  thought  I,  and  the  thought,  like  ice  and  fire, 
Went  freezing,  burning,  withering,  thrilling  through 
Annihilation  then  had  been  deliverance,  [me  ; 

While  that  eternity  of  solitude 
Lay  on  my  heart,  hard  struggling  to  break  free, 
As  from  a  dream  when  mountains  press  the  sleeper. 

Darkness,  meanwhile,  disguised  in  twilight,  crept 
O'er  air  and  ocean ;  drearier  gloom  involved 
My  fainting  senses,  till  a  sudden  ray 
Of  pensile  lustre  sparkled  from  the  west; 
I  flew  to  meet  it,  but  drew  never  nearer, 
While,  vanishing  and  re-appearing  oft, 
At  length  it  trembled  out  into  a  star. 
My  soul  revived,  and  could  I  then  hnve  wept 
(Methought  I  did),  with  tears  of  fond  delight, 
How  had  I  hail'd  the  gentle  apparition, 
As  second  life  to  me ;  so  sweetly  welcome 


13+ 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  I. 


The  faintest  semblance  of  society, 

Though  but  a  point  to  rest  the  eye  upon, 

To  him  who  hath  been  utterly  bereaved ! 

—  Star,  after  star,  from  some  unseen  abyss, 

Came  through  the  sky,  like  thoughts  into  the  mind, 

We  know  not  whence;  till  all  the  firmament 

Was  throng'd  with  constellations,  and  the  sea 

Strown  with  their  images.     Amidst  a  sphere 

Of  twinkling  lights,  like  living  eyes,  that  look'd 

At  once  on  me  from  every  side,  I  stood 

(Motion  and  rest  with  me  were  mere  volition), 

Myself  perhaps  a  star  among  the  rest ! 

But  here  again  I  found  no  fellowship; 

Sight  could  not  reach,  nor  keenest  thought  conceive 

Their  nature  or  their  offices.     To  me 

They  were  but  what  they  seem'd,  and  yet  I  felt 

They  must  be  more  ;  the  mind  hath  no  horizon, 

It  looks  beyond  the  eye,  and  seeks  for  mind 

In  all  it  sees,  or  all  it  sees  o'erruling. 

Low  in  the  east,  ere  long,  the  morning  dawn 
Shot  upward,  onward,  and  around  the  pole, 
With  arrowy  glimpses  traversing  the  shade. 
,    Night's  train,  as  they  had  kindled  one  by  one, 
Now  one  by  one  withdrew,  reversing  order, 
Where  those  that  came  the  latest,  earliest  went : 
Day  rose  triumphant,  and  again  to  me 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea  were  all  the  universe : 
But  ah !  the  glory  had  departed,  and  I  long'd 
For  some  untried  vicissitude  :  —  it  came. 

A  breeze  sprang  up,  and  with  careering  wing 
Play'd  like  an  unseen  being  on  the  water. 
Slowly  from  slumber  'woke  the  unwilling  main, 
Curling  and  murmuring,  till  the  infant  waves 
Leap'd  on  his  lap,  and  laugh'd  in  air  and  sunshine. 
Then  all  was  bright  and  beautiful  emotion, 
And  sweet  accordance  of  susurrent  sounds. 
I  felt  the  gay  delirum  of  the  scene ; 
I  felt  the  breeze  and  billow  chase  each  other, 
Like  bounding  pulses  in  my  human  veins : 
For,  though  impassive  to  the  elements, 
The  form  I  wore  was  exquisitely  tuned 
To  Nature's  sympathies;  joy,  fear,  hope,  sorrow, 
(As  though  I  yet  were  in  the  body,)  moved, 
Elated,  shook,  or  tranquillised  my  soul. 

Thus  pass'd  the  day;  night  follow'd,  deck'd  with 
stars 
Innumerable,  and  the  pale  new  moon, 


Beneath  her  feet,  a  slight  inverted  crescent, 
Soon  disappearing. 

Time  flew  on,  and  brought 
Alternate  morn  and  eve.     The  sun,  the  stars, 
The  moon  through  all  her  phases,  waxing,  waning, 
The  planets  seeking  rest,  and  finding  none, 
—  These  were  the  only  objects  in  mine  eye, 
The  constant  burden  of  my  thoughts,  perplex'd 
With  vain  conjectures  why  they  were  created. 

Once,  at  high  noon,  amidst  a  sultry  calm, 
Looking  around  for  comfort,  I  descried, 
Far  on  the  green  horizon's  utmost  verge, 
A  wreath  of  cloud;  to  me  a  glad  discovery, 
For  each  new  image  sprang  a  new  idea, 
The  germ  of  thoughts  to  come,  that  could  not  die. 
The  little  vapour  rapidly  expanded, 
Lowering  and  thickening  till  it  hid  the  sun, 
And  threw  a  starless  night  upon  the  sea. 
Eagerly,  tremblingly,  I  watch'd  the  end. 
Faint  gleam'd  the  lightning,  follow'd  by  no  peal ; 
Dreary  and  hollow  moans  foretold  a  gale  ; 
Nor  long  the  issue  tarried;  then  the  wind, 
Unprison'd,  blew  its  trumpet  loud  and  shrill; 
Out  flash'd  the  lightnings  gloriously;  the  rain 
Came  down  like  music,  and  the  full-toned  thunder 
Roll'd  in  grand  harmony  throughout  high  heaven ; 
Till  ocean,  breaking  from  his  black  supineness, 
Drown'd  in  his  own  stupendous  uproar  all 
The  voices  of  the  storm  beside  :  meanwhile 
A  war  of  mountains  raged  upon  his  surface ; 
Mountains  each  other  swallowing,  and  again 
New  Alps  and  Andes,  from  unfathom'd  valleys 
Upstarting,  join'd  the  battle;  like  those  sons 
Of  earth, —  Giants,  rebounding  as  new-born 
From  every  fall  on  their  unwearied  mother. 
I  glow'd  with  all  the  rapture  of  the  strife : 
Beneath,  was  one  wild  whirl  of  foaming  surges ; 
Above,  the  array  of  lightnings,  like  the  swords 
Of  cherubim,  wide-brandish'd  to  repel 
Aggression    from    Heaven's   gates:    their  flaming 

strokes 
Quench'd  momentarily  in  the  vast  abyss. 

The  voice  of  Him  who  walks  upon  the  wind, 
And  sets  his  throne  upon  the  floods,  rebuk'd 
The  headlong  tempest  in  its  mid-career, 
And  turn'd  its  horrors  to  magnificence. 
The  evening  sun  broke  through  the  embattled  clouds, 
And  threw  'round  sky  and  sea,  as  by  enchantment, 


Canto  I. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


135 


A  radiant  girdle,  binding  them  to  peace, 

In  the  full  rainbow's  harmony  of  beams ; 

No  brilliant  fragment,  but  one  sevenfold  circle, 

That  spann'd  the  horizon,  meted  out  the  heavens, 

And  underarch'd  the  ocean.     'Twas  a  scene 

That  left  itself  for  ever  on  my  mind. 

Night,  silent,  cool,  transparent,  crown'd  the  day  ; 
The  sky  receded  further  into  space, 
The  stars  came  lower  down  to  meet  the  eye, 
Till  the  whole  hemisphere,  alive  with  light, 
Twinkled  from  east  to  west  by  one  consent. 
The  constellations  round  the  arctic  pole, 
That  never  set  to  us,  here  scarcely  rose, 
But,  in  their  stead,  Orion  through  the  north 
Pursued  the  Pleiads  ;  Sinus,  with  his  keen 
Quick  scintillations,  in  the  zenith  reign'd. 
The  south  unveil'd  its  glories  ;  —  there  the  Wolf, 
With  eyes  of  lightning,  watch'd  the  Centaur's  spear ; 
Through  the  clear  hyaline  the  Ship  of  Heaven 
Came  sailing  from  eternity ;  the  D'ove, 
On  silver  pinions,  wing'd  her  peaceful  way  : 
There,  at  the  footstool  of  Jehovah's  throne, 
The  Altar,  kindled  from  His  presence,  blazed; 
There,  too,  all  else  excelling,  meekly  shone 
The  Cross,  the  symbol  of  redeeming  love  : 
The  Heavens  declared  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 
The  firmament  display'd  his  handy-work. 

With  scarce  inferior  lustre  gleam'd  the  sea, 
Whose  waves  were  spangled  with  phosphoric  fire, 
As   though    the    lightnings   there  had   spent  their 

shafts, 
And  left  the  fragments  glittering  on  the  field. 

Next  morn,  in  mockery  of  a  storm,  the  breeze 
And  waters  skirmish'd  ;  bubble-armies  fought 
Millions  of  battles  on  the  crested  surges, 
And  where  they  fell,  all  covcr'd  with  their  glory, 
Traced,  in  white  foam  on  the  cerulean  main, 
Paths,  like  the  milky-way  among  the  stars. 

Charm'd  with  the  spectacle,  yet  deeply  touch'd 
With  a  forlorn  and  not  untender  feeling  — 
"  Why,"  said  my  thoughts  within  me,  "  why  this 

waste 
Of  loveliness  and  grandeur  unenjoy'd  ? 
Is  there  no  life  throughout  this  fair  existence? 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea;  the  moon,  the  stars,  the  clouds  : 
Wind,  lightning,  thunder, —  are  but  ministers; 


They  know  not  what  they  are,  nor  what  they  do : 

0  for  the  beings  for  whom  these  were  made !  " 

Light  as  a  flake  of  foam  upon  the  wind, 
Keel  upward,  from  the  deep  emerged  a  shell, 
Shaped  like  the  moon  ere  half  her  horn  is  fill'd ; 
Fraught  with  young  life,  it  righted  as  it  rose, 
And  moved  at  will  along  the  yielding  water. 
The  native  pilot  of  this  little  bark 
Put  out  a  tier  of  oars  on  either  side, 
Spread  to  the  wafting  breeze  a  twofold  sail, 
And  mounted  up  and  glided  down  the  billow 
In  happy  freedom,  pleased  to  feel  the  air 
And  wander  in  the  luxury  of  light. 
Worth  all  the  dead  creation,  in  that  hour, 
To  me  appear'd  this  lonely  Nautilus, 
My  fellow-being,  like  myself  alive. 
Entranced  in  contemplation  vague  yet  sweet, 

1  watch'd  its  vagrant  course  and  rippling  wake, 
Till  I  forgot  the  sun  amidst  the  heavens. 

It  closed,  sunk,  dwindled  to  a  point,  then  nothing : 
While  the  last  bubble  crown'd  the  dimpling  eddy 
Through  which  mine  eye  still  giddily  pursued  it, 
A  joyous  creature  vaulted  through  the  air, — 
The  aspiring  fish  that  fain  would  be  a  bird, 
On  long  light  wings,  that  flung  a  diamond  shower 
Of  dew-drops  round  its  evanescent  form, 
Sprang  into  light,  and  instantly  descended, 
Ere  I  could  greet  the  stranger  as  a  friend, 
Or  mourn  his  quick  departure, —  on  the  surge, 
A  shoal  of  Dolphins,  tumbling  in  wild  glee, 
Glow'd  with  such  orient  tints,  they  might  have  been 
The  rainbow's  offspring,  when  it  met  the  ocean 
In  that  resplendent  vision  I  had  seen. 
While  yet  in  ecstasy  o'er  these  I  hung, 
AVith  every  motion  pouring  out  fresh  beauties, 
As  though  the  conscious  colours  came  and  went 
At  pleasure,  glorying  in  their  subtle  changes, — 
Enormous  o'er  the  flood,  Leviathan 
Look'd  forth,  and  from  his  roaring  nostrils  sent 
Two  fountains  to  the  sky,  then  plunged  amain 
In  headlong  pastime  through  the  closing  gulf. 

These  were  but  preludes  to  the  revelry 
That  reign'd  at  sunset;  then  the  deep  let  loose 
Its  blithe  adventurers  to  sport  at  large, 
As  kindly  instinct  taught  them;  buoyant  shells, 
On  stormless  voyages,  in  fleets  or  single, 
Wherried  their  tiny  mariners;  aloof, 


r 


136 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Caxto  II. 


On  wing-like  fins,  in  bow-aud-arrow  figures, 

The  flying  fishes  darted  to  and  fro ; 

'.Vhile  spouting  Whales  projected  wat'ry  columns, 

That  turn'd  to  arches  at  their  height,  and  seem'd 

The  skeletons  of  crystal  palaces 

Built  on  the  blue  expanse,  then  perishing, 

Frail  as  the  element  which  they  were  made  of: 

Dolphins,  in  gambols,  lent  their  lucid  brine 

Hues  richer  than  the  canopy  of  eve, 

That  overhung  the  scene  with  gorgeous  clouds, 

Decaying  into  gloom  more  beautiful 

Than  the  sun's  golden  liveries  which  they  lost : 

Till  light  that  hides,  and  darkness  that  reveals, 

The  stars, —  exchanging  guard,  like  sentinels 

Of  day  and  night, —  transform'd  the  face  of  nature  : 

Above  was  wakefulness,  silence  around, 

Beneath  repose, —  repose  that  reach'd  even  me. 

Power,  will,  sensation,  memory,  fail'd  in  turn  ; 

My  very  essence  seem'd  to  pass  away, 

Like  a  thin  cloud  that  melts  across  the  moon, 

Lost  in  the  blue  immensity  of  heaven. 


CANTO    SECOND. 

Life's  intermitting  pulse  again  went  on  : 
I  woke  amidst  the  beauty  of  a  morn 
That  shone  as  bright  within  me  as  around. 
The  presence-chamber  of  the  soul  was  full 
Of  flitting  images  and  rapturous  thoughts  ; 
For  eye  and  mind  were  open'd  to  explore 
The  secrets  of  the  abyss  erewhile  conceal'd. 
The  floor  of  ocean,  never  trod  by  man, 
Was  visible  to  me  as  heaven's  round  roof, 
Which  man  hath  never  touch'd  :  the  multitude 
Of  living  things  in  that  new  hemisphere 
Gleam'd  out  of  darkness,  like  the  stars  at  midnight, 
AVhcn  moon  nor  clouds,  with  light  or  shade,  obscure 

them. 
For,  as  in  hollows  of  the  tide-worn  reef, 
Left  at  low  water  glistening  in  the  sun, 
Pellucid  pools  and  rocks  in  miniature, 
With  their  small  fry  of  fishes,  crusted  shells, 
Rich  mosses,  tree-like  sea-weed,  sparkling  pebbles, 
Enchant  the  eye,  and  tempt  the  eager  hand 
To  violate  the  fairy  paradise, 
—  So  to  my  view  the  deep  disclosed  its  wonders. 

In  the  free  clement  beneath  me  swam, 
Flounder'd,  and  dived,  in  play,  in  chase,  in  battle, 


Fishes  of  every  colour,  form,  and  kind, 

(Strange  forms,  resplendent  colours,  kinds  unnum- 

ber'd,) 
Which  language  cannot  paint,  and  mariner 
Hath  never  seen ;  from  dread  Leviathan, 
To  insect  millions  peopling  every  wave  ; 
And  nameless  tribes,  half-plant,  half-animal, 
Rooted  and  slumbering  through  a  dream  of  life. 
The  livelier  inmates  to  the  surface  sprang, 
To  taste  the  freshness  of  heaven's  breath,  and  feel 
That  light  is  pleasant,  and  the  sunbeam  warm. 
Most  in  the  middle  region  sought  their  prey, 
Safety,  or  pastime;  solitary  some, 
And  some  in  pairs  affectionately  join'd: 
Others  in  shoals  immense,  like  floating  islands, 
Led  by  mysterious  instinct  through  that  waste 
And  trackless  region,  though  on  every  side 
Assaulted  by  voracious  enemies, 
—  Whales,  sharks,  and  monsters,  arm'd  in  front  or 

jaw 
With  swords,  saws,  spiral  horns,  or  hooked  fangs. 
While  ravening  Death  of  slaughter  ne'er  grew  weary, 
Life  multiplied  the  immortal  meal  as  fast. 
War,  reckless,  universal  war,  prevail'd : 
All  were  devourers,  all  in  turn  devour'd  ; 
Yet  every  unit  in  the  uncounted  sum 
Of  victims  had  its  share  of  bliss,  its  pang, 
And  but  a  pang,  of  dissolution  ;  each 
Was  happy  till  its  moment  came,  and  then 
Its  first,  last  suffering,  unforeseen,  unfear'd, 
Closed,  with  one  struggle,  pain  and  life  for  ever. 
So  He  ordain'd,  whose  way  is  in  the  sea, 
His  path  amidst  great  waters,  and  His  steps 
Unknown;  —  whose  judgments  are  a  mighty  deep, 
Where  plummet  of  archangel's  intellect 
Could  never  yet  find  soundings,  but  from  age 
To  age  let  down,  drawn  up,  then  thrown  again, 
With  lengthen'd  line  and  added  weight,  still  fails  ; 
And  still  the  cry  in  Heaven  is,  "  0  the  depth  !  " 

Thus,  while  bewilder'd  with  delight  I  gazed 
On  life  in  every  shape  it  here  assumed, 
Congenial  feeling  made  me  follow  it, 
And  try  to  be  whatever  I  beheld : 
By  mental  transmigration  thus  I  pass'd 
Through  many  a  body,  and  in  each  assay'd 
New  instincts,  powers,  enjoyments,  death  itself; 
Till,  weary  with  the  fanciful  pursuit, 
I  started  from  that  idle  reverie. 
Then  grew  my  heart  more  desolate  than  ever: 


Canto  II. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


137 


Here  had  I  found  the  beings  which  I  sought, 

—  Beings  for  whom  the  universe  was  made, 
Yet  none  of  kindred  with  myself.     In  vain 
I  strove  to  waken  sympathy  in  breasts 
Cold  as  the  element  in  which  they  moved, 
And  inaccessible  to  fellowship 

With  me,  as  sun  and  stars,  as  winds  and  vapours  : 
Sense  had  they,  but  no  more  :  mind  was  not  there. 
They  roam'd,  they  fed,  they  slept,  they  died,  and  left 
Race  after  race  to  roam,  feed,  sleep,  then  die, 
And  leave  their  like  through  endless  generations; 

—  Incessant  change  of  actors,  none  of  scene, 
Through  all  that  boundless  theatre  of  strife ! 
Shrinking  into  myself  again,  I  cried, 

In  bitter  disappointment, — "Is  this  all?" 

I  sent  a  glance  at  random,  from  the  cloud 
In  which  I  then  lay  floating  through  mid-heaven, 
To  ocean's  innermost  recess ;  —  when  lo  ! 
Another  seal  of  Nature's  book  was  open'd, 
Which  held  transported  thought  so  deep  entranced, 
That  Time,  though  borne  through  mightiest  revo- 
lutions, 
Seem'd,  like  the  earth  in  motion,  to  stand  still. 
The  works  of  ages  grew  beneath  mine  eye : 
As  rapid  intellect  calls  up  events, 
Combines,  compresses,  moulds  them,  with  such  power, 
That  in  a  little  page  of  memory 
An  empire's  annals  lie,  a  nation's  fortunes 
Pass  in  review,  as  motes  through  sunbeams  pass, 
Glistening  and  vanishing  in  quick  succession, 
Yet  each  distinct  as  though  there  were  but  one : 

—  So,  thrice  a  thousand  years,  with  all  their  issues, 
Hurried  before  me,  through  a  gleam  of  time, 
Between  the  clouds  of  two  eternities, — 

That  whence  they  came,  and   that  to  which  they 
tended. 

Immeasurable  continents  beneath 
The  expanse  of  animated  waters  lay, 
Not  strown  —  as  I  have  since  discern'd  the  tracks 
Of  voyagers  —  with  shipwrecks  and  their  spoils, 
The  wealth  of  merchants,  the  artillery 
Of  war,  the  chains  of  captives,  and  the  gems 
That  glowed  upon  the  brow  of  beauty ;  crowns 
Of  monarchs,  swords  of  heroes,  anchors  lost, 
That  never  had  let  go  their  hold  in  storms; 
Helms,  sunk  in  port,  that  steer'd  adventurous  barks 
Round  the  wide  world;  bones  of  dead  men,  that  made 
A  hidden  Golgotha  where  they  had  fallen, 


Unseen,  unsepulchred,  but  not  unwept 

By  lover,  friend,  relation  far  away. 

Lung  waiting  their  return  to  homo  and  country, 

And  going  down  into  their  fathers'  graves 

With  their  grey  hairs  or  youthful  locks  in  sorrow, 

To  meet  no  more  till  seas  give  up  their  dead  : 

Some,    too  —  ay,    thousands — whom    none    living 

mourn'd, 
None  miss'd  —  waifs  in  the  universe,  the  last 
Lorn  links  of  kindred  chains  for  ever  sunder'd. 

Not  such  the  spectacle  I  now  survey'd  : 

No  broken  hearts  lay  there;  no  aching  heads, 

For  whose  vast   schemes  the  world  was   once   too 

small, 
And  life  too  short,  in  Death's  dark  lap  found  rest 
Beneath  the  unresting  wave;  —  but  skeletons 
Of  whales  and  krakens  here  and  there  were  scatter'd, 
The  prey   when  dead  of  tribes,  their  prey  when 

living ; 
And, —  seen  by  glimpses,  but  awakening  thoughts 
Too  sad  for  utterance, — relics  huge  and  strange 
Of  the  whole  world  that  perish'd  by  the  flood, 
Kept  under  chains  of  darkness  till  the  judgment. 

—  Save  these,  lay  ocean's  bed,  as  from  the  hand 
Of  its  Creator,  hollow'd  and  prepared 

For  His  unfathomable  counsels  there, 
To  work  slow  miracles  of  power  divine, 
From  century  to  century, —  nor  less 
Incomprehensible  than  heaven  and  earth 
Form'd  in  sis  days  by  His  commanding  word. 
With  God  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day; 
He  in  one  day  can  sum  a  thousand  years : 
All  acts  with  Him  are  equal ;  for  no  more 
It  costs  Omnipotence  to  build  a  world, 
And  set  a  sun  amidst  the  firmament, 
Than  mould  a  dew-drop,  and  light  up  its  gem. 

This  was  the  landscape  stretch'd  beneath  the  flood : 

—  Rocks  branching  out  like  chains  of  Alpine  moun- 

tains ; 
Gulfs  intervening,  sandy  wildernesses, 
Forests  of  growth  enormous,  caverns,  shoals ; 
Fountains  up-springing,  hot  and  cold,  and  fresh 
And  bitter,  as  on  land ;  volcanic  fires 
Fiercely  out-flashing  from  earth's  central  heart, 
Nor  soon  extinguish'd  by  the  rush  of  waters 
Down  the  rent  crater  to  the  unknown  abyss 
Of  Nature's  laboratory,  where  she  hides 
Her  deeds  from  every  eye  except  her  Maker's  : 


138 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  II. 


—  Such  were  the  scenes  which  ocean  open'd  to  me; 

Mysterious  regions,  the  recluse  abode 

Of  unapproachable  inhabitants, 

That  dwelt  in  everlasting  darkness  there. 

Unheard  by  them  the  roaring  of  the  wind, 

The  elastic  motion  of  the  wave  unfelt; 

Still-life  was  theirs,  well  pleasing  to  themselves, 

Nor  yet  unuseful,  as  my  song  shall  show. 

Here,  on  a  stony  eminence,  that  stood, 
Girt  with  inferior  ridges,  at  the  point 
Where  light  and  darkness  meet  in  spectral  gloom, 
Midway  between  the  height  and  depth  of  ocean, 
I  mark'd  a  whirlpool  in  perpetual  play, 
As  though  the  mountain  were  itself  alive, 
And  catching  prey  on  every  side,  with  feelers 
Countless  as  sunbeams,  slight  as  gossamer  : 
Ere  long  transfigured,  each  fine  film  became 
An  independent  creature,  self-employ'd, 
Yet  but  an  agent  in  one  common  work, 
The  sum  of  all  their  individual  labours. 
Shapeless  they  seem'd,  but  endless  shapes  assumed; 
Elongated  like  worms,  they  writhed  and  shrunk 
Their  tortuous  bodies  to  grotesque  dimensions; 
Cumpress'd  like  wedges,  radiated  like  stars, 
Branching  like  sea-weed,  whirl'd  in  dazzling  rings; 
Subtle  and  variable  as  flickering  flames, 
Sight  could  not  trace  their  evanescent  changes, 
Nor  comprehend  their  motions,  till  minute 
And  curious  observations  caught  the  clue 
To  this  live  labyrinth, —  where  every  one, 
By  instinct  taught,  perform'd  its  little  task; 
—  To  build  its  dwelling  and  its  sepulchre, 
From  its  own  essence  exquisitely  modell'd ; 
There  breed,  and  die,  and  leave  a  progeny, 
Still  multiplied  beyond  the  reach  of  numbers, 
To  frame  new  cells  and  tombs ;  then  breed  and  die 
As  all  their  ancestors  had  done, —  and  rest, 
Hermetically  seal'd,  each  in  its  shrine, 
A  statue  in  this  temple  of  oblivion  ! 
Millions  of  millions  thus,  from  age  to  age, 
With  simplest  skill,  and  toil  unweariable, 
No  moment  and  no  movement  unimproved, 
Laid  line  on  line,  on  terrace  terrace  spread, 
To    swell    the    heightening,    brightening    gradual 

mound, 
By  marvellous  structure  climbing  tow'rd  the  day. 
Each  wrought  alone,  yet  all  together  wrought, 
Unconscious,  not  unworthy,  instruments, 
By  which  a  hand  invisible  was  rearing 


A  new  creation  in  the  secret  deep. 

Omnipotence  wrought  in  them,  with  them,  by  them ; 

Hence  what  Omnipotence  alone  could  do, 

Worms  did.     I  saw  the  living  pile  ascend, 

The  mausoleum  of  its  architects, 

Still  dying  upwards  as  their  labours  closed  : 

Slime  the  materials,  but  the  slime  was  turn'd 

To  adamant  by  their  petrific  touch  ; 

Frail  were  their  frames,  ephemeral  their  lives, 

Their  masonry  imperishable.     All 

Life's  needful  functions,  food,  exertion,  rest, 

By  nice  economy  of  Providence 

Were  overrul'd  to  carry  on  the  process 

Which  out  of  water  brought  forth  solid  rock. 

Atom  by  atom  thus  the  burden  grew, 
Even  like  an  infant  in  the  womb,  till  Time 
Deliver'd  ocean  of  that  monstrous  birth, 
—  A  coral  island,  stretching  east  and  west, 
In  God's  own  language  to  its  parent  saying, 
"  Thus  far,  nor  farther,  shalt  thou  go  ;  and  here 
Shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stay'd  :" — A  point  at  first, 
It  peer'd  above  those  waves;  a  point  so  small, 
I  just  perceived  it,  fix'd  where  all  was  floating; 
And  when  a  bubble  cross'd  it,  the  blue  film 
Expanded,  like  a  sky  above  the  speck; 
That  speck  became  a  hand-breadth  ;  day  and  night 
It  spread,  accumulated,  and  ere  long 
Presented  to  my  view  a  dazzling  plain, 
White  as  the  moon  amid  the  sapphire  sea; 
Bare  at  low  water,  and  as  still  as  death ; 
But  when  the  tide  came  gurgling  o'er  the  surface, 
'Twas  like  a  resurrection  of  the  dead  : 
From  graves  innumerable,  punctures  fine 
In  the  close  coral,  capillary  swarms 
Of  reptiles,  horrent  as  Medusa's  snakes, 
Cover'd  the  bald-pate  reef;  then  all  was  life, 
And  indefatigable  industry; 
The  artisans  were  twisting  to  and  fro, 
In  idle-seeming  convolutions  ;  yet 
They  never  vanish'd  with  the  ebbing  surge, 
Till  pellicle  on  pellicle,  and  layer 
On  layer,  was  added  to  the  growing  mass. 
Ere  long  the  reef  o'ertop'd  the  spring-flood's  height, 
And  mock'd  the  billows  when  they  leap'd  upon  it, 
Unable  to  maintain  their  slippery  hold, 
And  falling  down  in  foam-wreaths  round  its  verge. 
Steep  were  the  flanks,  with  precipices  sharp, 
Descending  to  their  base  in  ocean-gloom. 
Chasms  few,  and  narrow,  and  irregular, 


Canto  III. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


139 


Form'd  harbours  safe  at  once  and  perilous, — 
Safe  for  defence,  but  perilous  to  enter. 
A  sea-lake  shone  amidst  the  fossil  isle, 
Reflecting  in  a  ring  its  cliffs  and  caverns, 
With  Heaven  itself  seen  like  a  lake  below. 

Compared  with  this  amazing  edifice, 
Raised  by  the  weakest  creatures  in  existence, 
What  are  the  works  of  intellectual  man? 
Towers,  temples,  palaces,  and  sepulchres ; 
Ideal  images  in  sculptured  forms, 
Thoughts  hewn  in  columns,  or  in  domes  expanded, 
Fancies  through  every  maze  of  beauty  shown; 
Pride,  gratitude,  affection,  turn'd  to  marble 
In  honour  of  the  living  or  the  dead ; 
What  are  they?  —  fine-wrought  miniatures  of  art, 
Too  exquisite  to  bear  the  weight  of  dew, 
Which  every  morn  lets  fall  in  pearls  upon  them, 
Till  all  their  pomp  sinks  down  in  mouldering  relics, 
Yet  in  their  ruin  lovelier  than  their  prime ! 

—  Dust  in  the  balance,  atoms  in  the  gale, 
Compared  with  these  achievements  in  the  deep, 
Were  all  the  monuments  of  olden  time, 

In  days  when  there  were  giants  on  the  earth  : 

—  Babel's  stupendous  folly,  though  it  aim'd 
To  scale  Heaven's  battlements,  was  but  a  toy, 
The  plaything  of  the  world  in  infancy  :  — 
The  ramparts,  towers,  and  gates  of  Babylon, 
Built  for  eternity, —  though,  where  they  stood, 
Ruin  itself  stands  still  for  lack  of  work, 

And  Desolation  keeps  unbroken  sabbath  ;  — 
Great  Babylon,  in  its  full  moon  of  empire, 
Even  when  its  "head  of  gold"  was  smitten  off, 
And  from  a  monarch  changed  into  a  brute;- — 
Great  Babylon  was  like  a  wreath  of  sand, 
Left  by  one  tide,  and  cancell'd  by  the  next :  — 
Egypt's  dread  wonders,  still  defying  Time, 
Where  cities  have  been  crumbled  into  sand, 
Scatter'd  by  winds  beyond  the  Libyan  desert, 
Or  melted  down  into  the  mud  of  Nile, 
And  cast  in  tillage  o'er  the  corn-sown  fields, 
Where     Memphis    flourish')!,    and    the    Pharaohs 

reign'd ;  — 
Egypt's  gray  piles  of  hieroglyphic  grandeur, 
That  have  survived  the  language  which  they  speak, 
Preserving  its  dead  emblems  to  the  eye, 
Yet  hiding  from  the  mind  what  these  reveal; 

—  Her  pyramids  would  be  mere  pinnacles, 

Her  giant  statues,  wrought  from  rocks  of  granite, 
But  puny  ornaments,  for  such  a  pile 


As  this  stupendous  mound  of  catacombs, 
Fill'd  with  dry  mummies  of  the  builder-worms. 

Thus  far,  with  undiverted  thought,  and  eye 
Intensely  fix'd  on  ocean's  concave  mirror, 
I  wateh'd  the  process  to  its  finishing  stroke  : 
Then  starting  suddenly,  as  from  a  trance, 
Once  more  to  look  upon  the  blessed  sun, 
And  breathe  the  gladdening  influence  of  the  wind, 
Darkness  fell  on  me ;  giddily  my  brain 
Whirl'd  like  a  torch  of  fire  that  seems  a  circle, 
And  soon  to  me  the  universe  was  nothing. 

CANTO    THIRD. 

Nine  times  the  age  of  man  that  coral  reef 

Had  bleaeh'd  beneath  the  torrid  noon,  and  borne 

The  thunder  of  a  thousand  hurricanes, 

Raised  by  the  jealous  ocean  to  repel 

That  strange  encroachment  on  his  old  domain. 

His  rage  was  impotent ;  his  wrath  fulfill'd 

The  counsels  of  eternal  Providence, 

And  'stablished  what  he  strove  to  overturn  : 

For  every  tempest  threw  fresh  wrecks  upon  it; 

Sand  from  the  shoals,  exuvia?  from  the  deep, 

Fragments   of  shell,    dead    sloughs,   sea-inonsiers' 

bones, 
Whales  stranded  in  the  shallows,  hideous  weeds 
Hurl'd  out  of  darkness  by  the  uprooting  surges ; 
These,  with  unutterable  relics  more, 
Heap'd  the  rough  surface,  till  the  various  mass, 
By  Nature's  chemistry  combined  and  purged, 
Had  buried  the  bare  rock  in  crumbling  mould, 
Not  unproductive,  but  from  time  to  time 
Impregnated  with  seeds  of  plants,  and  rife 
With  embryo  animals,  or  torpid  forms 
Of  reptiles,  shrouded  in  the  cleft  of  trees 
From  distant  lands,  with  branches,  foliage,  fruit, 
Pluck'd  up  and  wafted  hither  by  the  flood. 
Death's  spoils,  and  life's  hid  treasures,  thus  enrich'd 
And  colonised  the  soil;  no  particle 
Of  meanest  substance  but  in  course  was  turn'd 
To  solid  use  or  noble  ornament. 
All  seasons  were  propitious;  every  wind, 
From  the  hot  Siroe  to  the  wet  Monsoon, 
Temper'd  the  crude  materials ;  while  Heaven's  dew 
Fell  on  the  sterile  wilderness  as  sweetly 
As  though  it  were  a  garden  of  the  Lord  : 
Nor  fell  in  vain  ;  each  drop  had  its  commission, 
And  did  its  duty,  known  to  him  who  sent  it. 


140 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  III. 


Such  time  had  pass'd,  such  changes  had  trans- 
figured 
The  aspect  of  that  solitary  isle, 
When  I  again,  in  spirit  as  before, 
Assumed  mute  watch  above  it.     Slender  blades 
Of  grass  were   shooting  through  the   dark   brown 

earth, 
Like  rays  of  light,  transparent  in  the  sun, 
Or  after  showers  with  liquid  gems  illumined; 
Fountains  through  filtering  sluices  sallied  forth, 
And  led  fertility  where'er  they  turn'd  ; 
Green    herbage    graced    their   banks,   resplendent 

flowers 
Unlock'd  their  treasures,  and  let  flow  their  fragrance. 
Then  insect  legions,  prank'd  with  gaudiest  hues, 
Pearl,  gold,  and  purple,  swarm'd  into  existence ; 
Minute  and  marvellous  creations  these! 
Infinite  multitudes  on  every  leaf, 
In  every  drop,  by  me  disccrn'd  at  pleasure, 
Were  yet  too  fine  for  uncnlighten'd  eye, 
—  Like  stars,  whose  beams  have  never  reach'd  our 

world, 
Though  science  met  them  midway  in  the  heaven 
With  prying  optics,  weighs  them  in  her  scale, 
Measures  their  orbs,  and  calculates  their  courses; — 
Some  barely  visible,  some  proudly  shone, 
Like  living  jewels  ;  some  grotesque,  uncouth, 
And  hideous, —  giants  of  a  race  of  pigmies; 
These  burrow'd  in  the  ground,  and  fed  on  garbage, 
Those  lived  deliciously  on  honey-dews, 
And  dwelt  in  palaces  of  blossom'd  bells  ; 
Millions  on  millions,  wing'd,  and  plumed  in  front, 
And  arm'd  with  stings  for  vengeance  or  assault, 
Fill*d  the  dim  atmosphere  with  hum  and  hurry; 
Children  of  light,  and  air,  and  fire  they  seem'd, 
Their  lives  all  ecstasy  and  quick  cross  motion. 
Thus  throve  this  embryo  universe,  where  all 
That  was  to  be  was  unbegun,  or  now 
Beginning;  every  day,  hour,  instant,  brought 
Its  novelty,  though  how  or  whence  I  knew  not; 
Less  than  omniscience  could  not  comprehend 
The  causes  of  effects  that  seem'd  spontaneous, 
And  sprang  in  infinite  succession,  link'd 
With  kindred  issues  infinite  as  they, 
For  which  Almighty  skill  had  laid  the  train 
Even  in  the  elements  of  chaos, —  whence 
The  unravelling  clue  not  for  a  moment  lost 
Hold  of  the  silent  hand  that  drew  it  out. 
Thus  He  who  makes  and  peoples  worlds  still  works 
In  secrecy,  behind  a  veil  of  light  ; 


Yet,  through  that  hiding  of  his  power,  such  glimpses 
Of  glory  break  as  strike  presumption  blind, 
Put  humble  and  exalt  the  humbled  soul, 
Whose  faith  the  things  invisible  discerns, 

i  And  God  informing,  guiding,  ruling  all:  — 
He  speaks,  'tis  done;  commands,  and  it  stands  fast. 

;  He  calls  an  island  from  the  deep; — it  comes ; 

I  Ordains  it  culture, —  soil  and  seed  are  there; 

I  Appoints  inhabitants, —  from  climes  unknown, 
By  undiscovcrable  paths,  they  flock 
Thither;  like  passage-birds  to  us  in  spring; 

'  They  were  not  yesterday, —  and,  lo  !  to-day 

•  They  are, —  but  what  keen  eye  beheld  them  coming  ? 

Here  was  the  infancy  of  life,  the  age 
Of  gold  in  that  green  isle,  itself  new-born, 
i  And  all  upon  it  in  the  prime  of  being, 
Love,  hope,  and  promise ;  'twas  in  miniature 
A  world  unsoil'd  by  sin ;  a  Paradise 
Where  Death  had  not  yet  cnter'd ;  Bliss  had  newly 
'  Alighted,  and  shut  close  his  rainbow  wings, 
To  rest  at  case,  nor  dread  intruding  ill. 
Plants  of  superior  growth  now  sprang  apace, 
With  moon-like  blossoms  crown'd,  or  starry  glories  ; 
|  Light  flexile  shrubs  among  the  greenwood  play'd 
Fantastic  freaks,  —  they  crept,  they   climb'd,  they 

budded, 
And  hung  their  flowers  and  berries  in  the  sun  ; 
As  the  breeze  taught,  they  danced,  they  sung,  they 

twined 
Their  sprays  in  bowers,  or  spread  the  ground  with 

network. 
Through  the  slow  lapse  of  undivided  time, 
Silently  rising  from  their  buried  germs, 
Trees  lifted  to  the  skies  their  stately  heads, 
Tufted  with  verdure,  like  depending  plumage, 
O'er  stems  unknotted,  waving  to  the  wind  : 
Of  these,  in  graceful  form  and  simple  beauty, 
The  fruitful  cocoa  and  the  fragrant  palm 
Excell'd  the  wilding  daughters  of  the  wood, 
That  stretch'd  unwieldy  their  enormous  arms, 
Clad  with  luxuriant  foliage,  from  the  trunk, 
Like  the  old  eagle,  feather'd  to  the  heel; 
While  every  fibre,  from  the  lowest  root 
To  the  last  leaf  upon  the  topmost  twig, 
Was  held  by  common  sympathy,  diffusing 
Through  all  the  complex  frame  unconscious  life. 
Such  was  the  locust  with  his  hydra  boughs, 
A  hundred  heads  on  one  stupendous  trunk; 
And  such  the  mangrove,  which,  at  full-moon  flood, 


Canto  IIT. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


141 


Appear'd  itself  a  wood  upon  the  waters, — 

But  when  the  tide  left  bare  its  upright  roots, 

A  wood  on  piles  suspended  in  the  air; 

Such  too  the  Indian  fig,  that  built  itself 

Into  a  sylvan  temple  arch'd  aloof 

With  airy  aisles  and  living  colonnades, 

Where  nations  might  have  worshipp'd  God  in  peace. 

From  year  to  year  their  fruits  ungather'd  fell ; 

Not  lost,  but,  quickening  where  they  lay,  they  struck 

Root  downward,  and  brake  forth  on  every  hand, 

Till  the  strong  saplings,  rank  and  file,  stood  up, 

A  mighty  army,  which  o'erran  the  isle, 

And  changed  the  wilderness  into  a  forest. 

All  this  appear'd  accomplish'd  in  the  space 
Between  the  morning  and  the  evening  star: 
So,  in  his  third  day's  work,  jEHOVAn  spake, 
And  Earth,  an  infant,  naked  as  she  came 
Out  of  the  womb  of  chaos,  straight  put  on 
Her  beautiful  attire,  and  deck'd  her  robe 
Of  verdure  with  ten  thousand  glorious  flowers, 
Exhaling  incense  ;  crown'd  her  mountain-heads 
With  cedars,  train'd  her  vines  around  their  girdles, 
And  pour'd  spontaneous  harvests  at  their  feet. 

Xor  were  these  woods  without  inhabitants 
Besides  the  ephemera  of  earth  and  air  : 

—  Where  glid  the  sunbeams   through  the   latticed 

boughs, 
And  fell  like  dew-drops  on  the  spangled  ground, 
To  light  the  diamond-beetle  on  his  way ; 

—  Where  cheerful  openings  lot  the  sky  look  down 
Into  the  very  heart  of  solitude, 

On  little  garden-plots  of  social  flowers, 

That  crowded  from  the  shades  to  peep  at  daylight; 

—  Or  where  impermeable  foliage  made 
Midnight  at  noon,  and  chill  damp  horror  reign'd 
O'er  dead  fall'n  leaves  and  slimy  funguses; 

—  Reptiles  were  quicken'd  into  various  birth. 
Loathsome,  unsightly,  swoln  to  obscene  bulk, 
Lurk'd  the  dark  toad  beneath  the  infected  turf; 
The  slow-worm  crawl'd,  the  light  chameleon  climb'd, 
And  changed  his  colour  as  his  place  he  changed; 
The  nimble  lizard  ran  from  bough  to  bough, 
Glancing  through  light,  in  shadow  disappearing; 
The  scorpion,  many-eyed,  with  sting  of  fire, 

Bred  there, —  the  legion-fiend  of  creeping  things  : 
Terribly  beautiful,  the  serpent  lay, 
Wreath'd  like  a  coronet  of  gold  and  jewels, 
Fit  for  a  tyrant's  brow  ;  anon  he  flew 


Straight  as  an  arrow  shot  from  his  own  rings, 
Ami  struck  its  victim,  shrieking  ere  it  went 
Down  his  strain'd  throat,  that  open  sepulchre. 

Amphibious  monsters  haunted  the  lagoon  ; 
The  hippopotamus,  amidst  the  flood, 
Flexile  and  active  as  the  smallest  swimmer  ; 
But  on  the  bank,  ill-balanced  and  infirm, 
He  grazed  the  herbage,  with  huge  head  declined, 
Or  lean'd  to  rest  against  some  ancient  tree  : 
The  crocodile,  the  dragon  of  the  waters, 
In  iron  panoply,  fell  as  the  plague, 
And  merciless  as  famine,  cranch'd  his  prey, 
While  from  his  jaws,  with  dreadful  fangs  all  serried, 
The  life-blood  dyed  the  waves  with  deadly  streams  : 
The  seal  and  the  sea-lion,  from  the  gulf, 
Came  forth,  and,  couching  with  their  little  ones, 
Slept  on  the  shelving  rocks  that  girt  the  shore, 
Securing  prompt  retreat  from  sudden  danger  : 
The  pregnant  turtle,  stealing  out  at  eve, 
With  anxious  eye,  and  trembling  heart,  explored 
The  loneliest  coves,  and  in  the  loose  warm  sand 
Deposited  her  eggs,  which  the  sun  hatch'd; — ■ 
Hence  the  young  brood,  that  never  knew  a  parent, 
Unburrow'd  and  by  instinct  sought  the  sea; 
Nature  herself,  with  her  own  gentle  hand, 
Dropping  them  one  by  one  into  the  flood, 
And  laughing  to  behold  their  antic  joy 
When  launch'd  in  their  maternal  element. 

The  vision  of  that  brooding  world  went  on : 
Millions  of  beings,  yet  more  admirable 
Than  all  that  went  before  them,  now  appear'd, 
Flocking  from  every  point  of  heaven,  and  filling 
Eye,  ear,  and  mind  with  objects,  sounds,  emotions 
Akin  to  livelier  sympathy  and  love 
Than  reptiles,  fishes,  insects,  could  inspire  : 

—  Birds,  the  free  tenants  of  land,  air,  and  ocean, 
Their  forms  all  symmetr}-,  their  motions  grace  ; 
In  plumage,  delicate  and  beautiful, 

Thick  without  burden,    close  as  fishes'  scales, 
Or  loose  as  full-blown  poppies  to  the  breeze; 
With  wings  that  might  have  had  a  soul  within  them, 
They  bore  their  owners  by  such  sweet  enchantment : 

—  Birds,  small  and  great,  of  endless   shapes   and 

colours, 
Here  flew  and  perch'd,  there   swam  and  dived  at 

pleasure ; 
Watchful  and  agile,  uttering  voices  wild 
And  harsh,  yet  in  accordance  with  the  waves 


142 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  III. 


Upon  the  beach,  the  winds  in  caverns  moaning, 
Or  winds  and  waves  abroad  upon  the  water. 
Some  sought  their  food  among  the  finny  shoals, 
Swift  darting  from  the  clouds,  emerging  soon 
With  slender  captives  glittering  in  their  beaks ; 
These  in  recesses  of  steep  crags  constructed 
Their  eyries  inaccessible,  and  train'd 
Their  hardy  broods  to  forage  in  all  weathers  : 
Others,  more  gorgeously  apparell'd,  dwelt 
Among  the  woods,  on  Nature's  dainties  feeding, 
Herbs,  seeds,  and  roots ;  or,  ever  on  the  wing, 
Pursuing  insects  through  the  boundless  air : 
In  hollow  trees  or  thickets  these  eonceal'd 
Their  exquisitely  woven  nests;  where  lay 
Their  callow  offspring,  quiet  as  the  down 
On   their   own   breasts,    till    from   her   search   the 

dam 
With  laden  bill  return'd,  and  shared  the  meal 
Among  her  clamorous  supplicants,  all  agape: 
Then,  cowering  o'er  them  with  expanded  wings, 
She  felt  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  a  mother. 
Of  these,  a  few,  with  melody  untaught, 
Turn'd  all  the  air  to  music  within  hearing, 
Themselves  unseen  :  while  bolder  quiristers 
On  loftiest  branches  strain'd  their  clarion-pipes, 
And  made  the  forest  echo  to  their  screams 
Discordant, —  yet  there  was  no  discord  there, 
But  temper'd  harmony  :  all  tones  combining, 
In  the  rich  confluence  of  ten  thousand  tongues, 
To  tell  of  joy  and  to  inspire  it.     Who 
Could  hear  such  concert,  and  not  join  in  chorus? 
Not  I :  —  sometimes  entranced,  I  seem'd  to  float 
Upon  a  buoyant  sea  of  sounds  ;  again 
With  curious  ear  I  tried  to  disentangle 
The  maze  of  voices,  and  with  eye  as  nice 
To  single  out  each  minstrel,  and  pursue 
His  little  song  through  all  its  labyrinth, 
Till  my  soul  enter'd  into  him,  and  felt 
Every  vibration  of  his  thrilling  throat, 
Pulse  of  his  heart,  and  flutter  of  his  pinions. 
Often,  as  one  among  the  multitude, 
I  sang  from  very  fulness  of  delight; 
Now  like  a  winged  fisher  of  the  sea, 
Now  a  recluse  among  the  woods, —  enjoying 
The  bliss  of  all  at  once,  or  each  in  turn. 

In    storm    and   calm,  through    every  change  of 
season, 
Long  flourish'd  thus  that  era  of  our  isle. 
It  could  not  last  for  ever  :  mark  the  end. 


A  cloud  arose  amid  the  tranquil  heaven, 
Like  a  man's  hand,  but  held  a  hurricane 
Within  its  grasp.     Comprcss'd  into  a  point, 
The  tempest  struggled  to  break  loose.     No  breath 
Was  stirring,  yet  the  billows  roll'd  aloof, 
And  the  air  nioan'd  portentously  ;  ere  long 
The  sky  was  hidden,  darkness  to  be  felt 
Confounded  all  things ;  land  and  water  vanish'd, 
And  there  was  silence  through  the  universe, — 
Silence,  that  made  my  soul  as  desolate 
As  the  blind  solitude  around.     Methought 
Thrft  I  had  pass'd  the  bitterness  of  death 
Without  the  agony, —  had,  unaware, 
Enter'd  the  unseen  world,  and,  in  the  gap 
Between  the  life  that  is  and  that  to  come, 
Awaited  judgment.     Fear  and  trembling  seized 
All  that  was  mortal  or  immortal  in  me  ; 
A  moment,  and  the  gates  of  Paradise 
Might  open  to  receive,  or  Hell  be  moved 
To  meet  me.     Strength  and  spirit  fail'd  ; 
Eternity  enclosed  me,  and  I  knew  not, 
Knew  not,  even  then,  my  destiny.     To  doubt 
Was  to  despair;  —  I  doubted  and  despair'd. 
Then  horrible  delirium  whirl'd  mo  down 
To  ocean's  nethermost  recess;  the  waves, 
Disparting  freely,  let  me  fall,  and  fall, 
Lower  and  lower,  passive  as  a  stone, 
Yet  rack'd  with  miserable  pangs,  that  gave 
The  sense  of  vain  but  violent  resistance : 
And  still  the  depths  grew  deeper;  still  the  ground 
Receded  from  my  feet  as  I  approaeh'd  it. 

0  how  I  long'd  to  light  on  rocks,  that  sunk 
Like  quicksands  ere  I  touch'd  them;  or  to  hide 
In  caverns  ever  open  to  ingulf  me, 

But,  like  the  horizon's  limit,  never  nearer ! 

Meanwhile,  the  irrepressible  tornado 
Burst  and  involved  the  elements  in  chaos; 
Wind,  rain,  and  lightning,  in  one  vast  explosion, 
Rush'd  from  the  firmament  upon  the  deep : 
Heaven's  adamantine  arch  seem'd  rent  asunder, 
And  following  in  a  cataract  of  ruins 
My  swift  descent  through  bottomless  abysses, 
Where  ocean's  bed  had  been  absorb'd  in  nothing. 

1  know  no  farther.     When  again  I  saw 
The  sun,  the  sea,  the  island,  all  was  calm, 
And  all  was  desolation ;  not  a  tree, 

Of  thousands  flourishing  erewhile  so  fair, 
But  now  was  split,  uprooted,  snapt  in  twain, 
Or  hurl'd  with  all  its  honours  to  the  dust. 


Canto  IV. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


143 


Heaps  upon  heaps,  the  forest  giauts  lay, 

Even  like  the  slain  in  battle,  fall'n  to  rise 

No  more,  till  heaven,  and  earth,  and  sea,  with  all 

Therein,  shall  perish,  as  to  me  they  seem'd 

To  perish  in  that  ruthless  hurricane. 

CANTO   FOURTH. 

Nature  and  Time  were  twins.     Companions  still, 

Their  unrctarded,  unreturning  flight 

They  hold  together.     Time,  with  one  sole  aim, 

Looks  ever  onward,  like  the  moon  through  space, 

With  beaming  forehead,  dark  and  bald  behind, 

Nor  ever  lost  a  moment  in  his  course. 

Nature  looks  all  around  her,  like  the  sun, 

And  keeps  her  works,  like  his  dependent  worlds, 

In  constant  motion.     She  hath  never  miss'd 

One  step  in  her  victorious  mark  of  change, 

For  chance  she  knows  not;  He  who  made  her,  gave 

His  daughter  power  o'er  all  except  Himself. 

—  Power  iu  whate'er  she  does  to  do  his  will, 

Behold  the  true,  the  loyal  law  of  Nature ! 

Hence  failures,  hinderances,  and  devastations 

Are  turn'd  to  trophies  of  exhaustless  skill, 

That  out  of  ruin  brings  forth  strength  and  beauty, 

Yea,  life  and  immortality  from  death. 

I  gazed  in  consternation  on  the  wreck 
Of  that  fair  island,  strown  with  prostrate  trees, 
The  soil  plough'd  up  with  horrid  inundations, 
The  surface  black  with  sea-weed,  not  a  glimpse 
Of  verdure  peeping;  stems,  boughs,  foliage,  lay 
Rent,  broken,  clotted,  perishing  in  slime. 
"  How  are  the  mighty  fallen  !  "  I  exelaim'd  ; 
"  Surely  the  feller  hath  come  np  among  ye, 
And  with  a  stroke  invisible  hewn  down 
The  growth  of  centuries  in  one  dark  hour ! 
Is  this  the  end  of  all  perfection  ?     This 
The  abortive  issue  of  a  new  creation, 
Erewhile  so  fruitful  in  abounding  joys, 
And  hopes  fulfilling  more  than  all  they  promised  ? 
Ages  to  come  can  but  repair  this  ravage ; 
The  past  is  lost  for  ever.     Reckless  Time 
Stays  not;  astonied  Nature  stands  aghast, 
And  wrings  her  hands  in  silent  agony, 
Amidst  the  annihilation  of  her  works  ! " 

Thus   raved   I ;    but   I   wrong'd    thee,   glorious 
Nature  ! 
With  whom  adversity  is  but  transition. 


Thou  never  didst  despair,  wert  never  foil'd, 

Nor  weary  with  exhaustion,  since  the  day 

When,  at   the  word   "Let  there   be   light,"  light 

sprang, 
And  show'd  thee  rising  from  primeval  darkness, 
That  fell  back  like  a  veil  from  thy  young  form, 
And  Chaos  fled  before  the  apparition. 

While   yet    mine   eye   was    mourning   o'er    the 
scene, 
Nature  and  Time  were  working  miracles  : 
The  isle  was  renovated ;  grass  and  flowers 
Crept  quietly  around  the  fallen  trees; 
A  deeper  soil  embedded  them,  and  o'er 
The  common  sepulchre  of  all  their  race 
Threw  a  rich  covering  of  embroider'd  turf, 
Lovely  to  look  on  as  the  tranquil  main, 
When,  in  his  noonward  tract,  the  unclouded  sun 
Tints  the  green  waves  with  every  hue  of  heaven, 
More  exquisitely  brilliant  and  aerial 
Than  morn  or  evening's  pageantry. 
Amidst  the  burial  of  the  mighty  dead, 
There  was  a  resurrection  from  the  dust 
Of  lowly  plants,  impatient  for  the  light, 
Long  interrupted  by  o'ershadowing  woods, 
While  in  the  womb  of  earth  their  embryos  tarried, 
Unfructifying,  yet  imperishable. 
Huge  remnants  of  the  forest  stood  apart, 
Like  Tadmor's  pillars  in  the  wilderness, 
Startling  the  traveller 'midst  his  thoughts  of  home; 
— Bare  trunks  of  broken  trees,  that  gave  their  heads 
To  the  wind's  axe,  but  would  not  yield  their  roots 
To  the  uptearing  violence  of  the  floods. 
From  these  a  slender  race  of  scions  sprang, 
Which  with  their  filial  arms  embraced  and  shelter'd 
The  monumental  relics  of  their  sires  ; 
But,  limited  in  number,  scatter'd  wide, 
And  slow  of  growth,  that  overran  no  more 
The  Sun's  dominions  in  that  open  isle. 

Meanwhile  the  sea-fowl,  that  survived  the  storm, 
Whose  rage  had  fleck'd  the  waves  with   shatter'd 

plumes 
And  welteriug  carcases,  the  prey  of  sharks, 
Came  from  their  fastnesses  among  the  rocks, 
And  multiplied  like  clouds  when  rains  are  brooding, 
Or  flowers  when  clear  warm  sunshine  follows  rain. 
The  inland  birds  had  perish'd,  nor  again, 
By  airy  voyages  from  shores  unknown, 
Was  silence  broken  on  the  unwooded  plains : 


IU 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  IV. 


Another  race  of  wing'd  inhabitants 

Ere  long  possess'd  and  peopled  all  the  soil. 

The  sun  had  sunk  where  sky  and  ocean  meet, 
And  each  might  seem  the  other  :  sky  below, 
With  richest  garniture  of  clouds  inlaid  ; 
Ocean  above,  with  isles  and  continents 
Illumined  from  a  source  no  longer  seen. 
Far  in  the  east,  through  heaven's  intenser  blue, 
Two  brilliant  sparks,  like  sudden  stars,  appear'd  : 
Not  stars,  indeed,  but  birds  of  mighty  wing, 
Retorted  neck,  and  javelin-pointed  bill, 
That  made  the  air  sigh  as  they  cut  it  through. 
They  gain'd  upon  the  eye,  and,  as  they  came, 
Enlarged,  grew  brighter,  and  display'd  their  forms, 
Amidst  the  golden  evening;  pearly  white, 
But  ruby-tinctured.     On  the  loftiest  cliff 
They  settled,  hovering  ere  they  touch'd  the  ground, 
And  uttering,  in  a  language  of  their  own, 
Yet  such  as  every  ear  might  understand, 
And  every  bosom  answer,  notes  of  joy, 
And  gratulation  for  that  resting-place. 
Stately  and  beautiful  they  stood,  and  clapp'd 
Their    van-broad    pinions,    strcak'd    their    ruffled 

plumes, 
And  ever  and  anon  broke  off  to  gaze, 
With  yearning  pleasure,  told  in  gentle  murmurs, 
On   that   strange   land    their   destined  home   and 

country. 
Night   round   them   threw  her  brown   transparent 

gloom, 
Through  which  their  lonely  images  yet  shone 
Like  things  unearthly,  while  they  bow'd  their  heads 
On  their  full  bosoms,  and  reposed  till  morn. 
I  knew  the  Pelicans,  and  cried  —  "  All  hail ! 
Ye  future  dwellers  in  the  wilderness!" 

At  early  dawn  I  mark'd  them  in  the  sky, 
Catching  the  morning  colours  on  their  plumes; 
Not  in  voluptuous  pastime  revelling  there, 
Among  the  rosy  clouds,  while  orient  heaven 
Flamed  like  the  opening  gates  of  Paradise, 
Whence  issued  forth  the  Angel  of  the  sun, 
And  gladden'd  Nature  with  returning  day  : 
—  Eager  for  food,  their  searching  eyes  they  fix'd 
On  ocean's  unroll'd  volume,  from  an  height 
That  brought  immensity  within  their  scope  ; 
Yet  with  such  power  of  vision  look'd  they  down, 
As  though  they  watch'd  the  shell-fish  slowly  gliding 
O'er  sunken  rocks,  or  climbing  trees  of  coral. 


On  indefatigable  wing  upheld, 

Breath,  pulse,  existence,  seem'd  suspended  in  them  : 

They  were  as  pictures  painted  on  the  sky ; 

Till  suddenly,  aslant,  away  they  shot, 

Like   meteors,  changed   from   stars   to   gleams  of 

lightning, 
And  struck  upon  the  deep,  where  in  wild  play 
Their  quarry  fiounder'd,  unsuspecting  harm  : 
With  terrible  voracity,  they  plunged 
Their  heads  among  the  affrighted  shoals,  and  beat 
A  tempest  on  the  surges  with  their  wings, 
Till  flashing  clouds  of  foam  and  spray  conccal'd  them. 
Nimbly  they  seized  and  secreted  their  prey, 
Alive  and  wriggling  in  the  elastic  net 
Which  Nature  hung  beneath  their  grasping  beaks; 
Till,  swoln  with  captures,  the  unwieldy  burden 
Clogg'd  their  slow  flight,  as  heavily  to  land 
These  mighty  hunters  of  the  deep  retum'd. 
There  on  the  cragged  cliffs  they  perch'd  at  ease, 
Gorging  their  hapless  victims  one  by  one; 
Then,  full  and  weary,  side  by  side  they  slept, 
Till  evening  roused  them  to  the  chase  again. 

Harsh  seems  the  ordinance,  that  life  by  life 
Should  be  sustain'd :  and  yet,  when  all  must  die, 
And  be  like  water  spilt  upon  the  ground, 
Which  none  can  gather  up,  the  speediest  fate, 
Though  violent  and  terrible,  is  best. 
0  !  with  what  horrors  would  creation  groan, — 
What  agonies  would  ever  be  before  us, 
Famine  and  pestilence,  disease,  despair, 
Anguish  and  pain  in  every  hideous  shape, — 
Had  all  to  wait  the  slow  decay  of  nature  ! 
Life  were  a  martyrdom  of  sympathy  ; 
Death,  lingering,  raging,  writhing,  shrieking  torture ; 
The  grave  would  be  abolish'd;  this  gay  world 
A  valley  of  dry  bones,  a  Golgotha, 
In  which  the  living  stumbled  o'er  the  dead, 
Till  they  could  fall  no  more,  and  blind  perdition 
Swept  frail  mortality  away  for  ever. 
'Twas  wisdom,  mercy,  goodness,  that  ordain'd 
Life  in  such  infinite  profusion, —  Death 
So  sure,  so  prompt,  so  multiform  to  those 
That  never  sinn'd,  that  know  not  guilt,  that  fear 
No  wrath  to  come,  and  have  no  heaven  to  lose. 

Love  found  that  lonely  couple  on  their  isle, 
And  soon  surrounded  them  with  blithe  companions. 
The  noble  birds,  with  skill  spontaneous,  framed 
A  nest  of  reeds  among  the  giant-grass, 


Canto  IV. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


MS 


That  waved  in  lights  and  shadows  o'er  the  soil. 

There,  in  sweet  thraldom,  yet  unweening  why, 

The  patient  dam,  who  ne'er  till  now  had  known 

Parental  instinct,  brooded  o'er  her  eggs, 

Long  ere  she  found  the  curious  secret  out 

That  life  was  hatching  in  their  brittle  shells. 

Then,  from  a  wild  rapacious  bird  of  prey, 

Tamed  by  the  kindly  process,  she  became 

That  gentlest  of  all  living  things  — a  mother; 

Gentlest  while  yearning  o'er  her  naked  young, 

Fiercest  when  stirr'd  by  anger  to  defend  them. 

Her  mate  himself  the  softening  power  confess'd, 

Forgot  his  sloth,  restrain'd  bis  appetite, 

And  ranged  the  sky  and  fish'd  the  stream  for  her; 

Or  when  o'erwearied  nature  forced  her  off 

To  shake  her  torpid  feathers  in  the  breeze, 

And  bathe  her  bosom  in  the  cooling  flood, 

He  took  her  place,  and  felt  through  every  nerve, 

While   the   plump   nestlings   throbb'd   against  his 

heart, 
The  tenderness  that  makes  the  vulture  mild; 
Yea,  half  unwillingly  his  post  resigu'd, 
When,  home-sick  with  the  absence  of  an  hour, 
She  hurried  back,  and  drove  him  from  her  seat 
With  pecking  bill  and  cry  of  fond  distress, 
Answer'd  by  him  with  murmurs  of  delight, 
Whose  gutturals  harsh  to  her  were  love's  own  music. 
Then,  settling  down,  like  foam  upon  the  wave, 
White,  flickering,  effervescent,  soon  subsiding, 
Her  ruffled  pinions  smoothly  she  composed; 
And,  while  beneath  the  comfort  of  her  wings. 
Her  crowded  progeny  quite  fill'd  the  nest  : 
The  halcyon  sleeps  not  sounder,  when  the  wind 
Is  breathless,  and  the  sea  without  a  curl, 

—  Xor  dreams  the  halcyon  of  serener  days, 
Or  nights  more  beautiful  with  silent  stars, 
Than,  in  that  hour,  the  mother  Pelican, 
When  the  warm  tumults  of  affection  sunk 
Into  calm  sleep,  and  dreams  of  what  they  were, 
Dreams  more  delicious  than  reality. 

—  He  sentinel  beside  her  stoud,  and  watch'd 
With  jealous  eye  the  raven  in  the  clouds, 

And  the  rank  sea-mews  wheeling  round  the  cliffs. 
Woe  to  the  reptile  then  that  ventured  nigh ; 
The  snap  of  his  tremendous  bill  was  like 
Death's  scythe,  down-cutting  every  thing  it  struck. 
The  heedless  lizard,  in  his  gambols,  peep'd 
Upon  the  guarded  nest,  from  out  the  flowers, 
But  paid  the  instant  forfeit  of  bis  life; 
Nor  could  the  serpent's  subtilty  elude 
10 


Capture,  when  gliding  by,  nor  in  defence 
Might  his  malignant  fangs  and  venom  save  him. 

Erelong  the  thriving  brood  outgrew  their  cradle, 
Ran  through  the  grass,  and  dabbled  in  the  pools; 
No  sooner  denizens  of  earth,  than  made 
Free  both  of  air  and  water :  day  by  day, 
New  lessons,  exercises,  and  amusements 
Employ'd  the  old  to  teach,  the  young  to  learn. 
Now  floating  on  the  blue  lagoon  behold  them; 
The  Sire  and  Dam  in  swan-like  beauty  steering, 
Their  Cygnets  following  through  the  foamy  wake, 
Picking  the  leaves  of  plants,  pursuing  insects, 
Or  catching  at  the  bubbles  as  they  broke : 
Till  on  some  minor  fry,  in  reedy  shallows, 
With  flapping  pinions  and  unsparing  beaks, 
The  well-taught  scholars  plied  their  double  art, 
To  fish  in  troubled  waters,  and  secure 
The  petty  captives  in  their  maiden  pouches; 
Then  hurry  with  their  banquet  to  the  shore, 
With  feet,  wings,  breast,  half-swimming  and  half- 
flying. 
But  when  their  pens  grew  strong  to  fight  the  storm, 
And  buffet  with  the  breakers  on  the  reef, 
The  Parents  put  them  to  severer  proof: 
On  beetling  rocks  the  little  ones  were  marshall'd : 
There,  by  endearments,  stripes,  example,  urged 
To  try  the  void  convexity  of  heaven, 
And  plough  the  ocean's  horizontal  field. 
Timorous  at  first,  they  flutter'd  round  the  verge, 
Balanced  and  furl'd  their  hesitating  wings, 
Then  put  them  forth  again  with  steadier  aim  ; 
Now,  gaining  courage  as  they  felt  the  wind 
Dilate  their  feathers,  fill  their  airy  frames 
With  buoyancy  that  bore  them  from  their  feet. 
They  yielded  all  their  burden  to  the  breeze, 
And  sail'd  or  soar'd  where'er  their  guardians  led : 
Ascending,  hovering,  wheeling,  or  alighting, 
They  search'd  the  deep  in  quest  of  nobler  game 
Than  yet  their  inexperience  had  eneounter'd  ; 
With  these  they  battled  in  that  element 
Where  wings  or  tins  were  equally  at  home, 
Till,  conquerors  in  many  a  desperate  strife, 
They  dragg'd   their  spoils  to  land,  and  gorged  at 
leisure. 

Thus  perfected  in  all  the  arts  of  life 
That  simple  Pelicans  require, —  save  one, 
Which  mother-bird  did  never  teach  her  daughter 
—  The  inimitable  art  to  build  a  nest  ; 


146 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


1 


Love,  for  his  own  delightful  school,  reserving 

That  mystery  which  novice  never  fail'd 

To  learn  infallibly  when  taught  by  him : 

—  Hence  that  small  master-piece  of  Nature's  art, 

Still  unimpaired,  still  unimproved,  remains 

The  same  in  site,  material,  shape,  and  texture. 

While  every  kind  a  different  structure  frames, 

All  build  alike  of  each  peculiar  kind  : 

The  nightingale,  that  dwelt  in  Adam's  bower, 

And  pour'd  her  stream  of  music  through  his  dreams: 

The  soaring  lark,  that  led  the  eye  of  Eve 

Into  the  clouds,  her  thoughts  into  the  heaven 

Of  heavens,  where  lark  nor  eye  can  penetrate  ; 

The  dove,  that  perch'd  upon  the  Tree  of  Life, 

And  made  her  bed  upon  its  thickest  leave?  ; 

All  the  wing'd  habitants  of  Paradise, 

Whose  songs  once  mingled  with  the  songs  of  Angels, 

Wove  their  first  nests  as  curiously  and  well 

As  the  wood-minstrels  in  our  evil  day, 

After  the  labours  of  six  thousand  years, 

In  which  their  ancestors  have  fail'd  to  add, 

To  alter,  or  diminish,  any  thing 

In  that,  of  which  Love  only  knows  the  secret, 

And  teaches  every  mother  for  herself, 

Without  the  power  to  impart  it  to  her  offspring: 

—  Thus,  perfected  in  all  the  arts  of  life 

That  simple  Pelicans  require,  save  this, 

Those  Parents  drove  their  young  away  :  the  young 

Gaily  forsook  their  parents.     Soon  enthrall'd 

With  love-alliances  among  themselves, 

They  built  their  nests,  as  happy  instinct  wrought 

Within  their  bosoms,  wakening  powers  unknown, 

Till  sweet  necessity  was  laid  upon  them  : 

They  bred,  and  rear'd  their  little  families, 

As  they  were  train'd  and  disciplined  before. 

Thus  wings  were  multiplied  from  year  to  year ; 
Anil  here  the  patriarch-twain,  in  good  old  age, 
ltesign'd  their  breath  beside  that  ancient  nest 
In  which  themselves  had  nursed  a  hundred  broods 
The  isle  was  peopled  with  their  progeny. 


CANTO   FIFTn. 

MEANWHILE,  not  idle,  though  unwatch'd  by  me, 

The  coral  architects  in  silence  rear'd 

Tower  after  tower  beneath  the  dark  abyss. 

Pyramidal  in  form  the  fabrics  rose, 

From  ample  bnsemenU  narrowing  to  the  height, 


Until  they  pierced  the  surface  of  the  fli 

And  dimpling  eddies  sparkled  round  their  peaks. 

Then  (if  great  things  with  small  may  be  compared) 

They  spread  like  water-lilies,  whose  broad  leaves 

Make  green  and  sunny  islets  on  the  pool, 

For  golden  flies,  on  summer-days,  to  haunt, 

Safe  from  the  lightning-seizure  of  the  trout : 

Or  yield  their  laps  to  catch  the  minnows  springing 

Clear  from  the  stream  to  'scape  the  ruffian  pike, 

That  prowls  in  disappointed  rage  beneath, 

And  wonders  where  the  little  wretch  found  refuge. 

One  headland  topt  the  waves,  another  follow'd; 
A  third,  a  tenth,  a  twentieth  soon  appear'd, 
Till  the  long  barren  gulf  in  travail  lay 
With  many  an  infant  struggling  into  birth. 
Larger  they  grew  and  lovelier,  when  they  breathed 
The  vital  air,  and  felt  the  genial  sun : 
As  though  a  living  spirit  dwelt  in  each, 
Which,  like  the  inmate  of  a  flexile  shell, 
Moulded  the  shapeless  slough  with  its  own  motion, 
And  painted  it  with  colours  of  the  morn. 
Amidst  that  group  of  younger  sisters  stood 
The  Isle  of  Pelicans,  as  stands  the  moon 
At  midnight,  queen  among  the  minor  stars, 
Differing  in  splendour,  magnitude,  and  distance. 
So  look'd  that  archipelago:  small  isles, 
By  interwinding  channels  link'd  yet  sunder'd ; 
All  flourishing  in  peaceful  fellowship, 
Like  forest-oaks  that  love  society  : 
—  Of  various  growth  and  progress;  here,  a  rock 
On  which  a  single  palm-tree  waved  its  banner; 
There,  sterile  tracts  unmoulder'd  into  soil ; 
Yonder,  dark  woods  whose  foliage  swept  the  water, 
Without  a  speck  of  turf,  or  line  of  shore, 
As  though  their  roots  were  anchor'd  in  the  ocean. 
But  most  were  gardens  redolent  with  flov 
And  orchards  bending  with  Hesperian  fruit. 
That  realised  the  dreams  of  olden  time. 

Throughout   this   commonwealth    of    sea-sprung 
lands. 
Life  kindled  in  ten  thousand  happy  forms ; 
Earth,  air,  ami  ocean,  were  all  full  of  life. 
Still  highest  in  the  rank  of  being  soar'd 
I   The  fowls  amphibious,  and  the  inland  U 
Of  dainty  plumage  or  melodious  song. 
In  gaudy  robes  of  many-colour'd  patches, 
The  parrots  swung  like  blossoms  mi  tin 
While  their  harsh  voices  undeceived  the  ear. 


Canto  V, 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


U1 


More  delicately  pencill'd,  finer  drawn 

In  shape  and  lineament  —  too  exquisite 

For  gross  delights  —  the  Birds  of  Paradise 

Floated  aloof,  as  though  they  lived  on  air, 

And  were  the  orient  progeny  of  Heaven, 

Or  spirits  made  perfect  veil'd  in  shining  raiment. 

From  flower  to   flower,  where  wild  bees  flew  and 

sung, 
As  countless,  small,  and  musical  as  they, 
Showers  of  bright  humming-birds  came  down,  and 

plied 
The  same  ambrosial  task,  with  slender  bill 
Extracting  honey,  hidden  in  those  bells 
Whose  richest  blooms  grew  pale  beneath  the  blaze 
Of  twinkling  winglets  hovering  o'er  their  petals, 
Brilliant  as  rain-drops  when  the  western  sun 
Sees  his  own  miniature  of  beams  in  each. 

High  on  the  cliffs,  down  on  the  shelly  reef, 
Or  gliding  like  a  silver-shaded  cloud 
Through  the  blue  heaven,  the  mighty  albatross 
Inhaled  the  breezes,  sought  his  humble  food, 
Or,  where  his  kindred  like  a  flock  reposed, 
Without  a  shepherd,  on  the  grassy  downs, 
Smooth'd  his  white  fleece,  and  slumber'd  in  their 
midst. 

Wading  through   marshes,  where  the  rank   sea- 
weed 
With  spongy  moss  and  flaccid  lichens  strove, 
Flamingos,  in  their  crimson  tunics,  stalk'd 
On  stately  legs,  with  far  exploring  eye ; 
Or  fed  and  slept,  in  regimental  lines, 
Watch 'd  by  their  sentinels,  whose  clarion-screams 
All  in  an  instant  woke  the  startled  troop, 
That  mounted  like  a  glorious  exhalation, 
And  vanish'd  through  the  welkin  far  away, — 
Nor  paused,  till,  on  some  lonely  coast  alighting, 
Again  their  gorgeous  cohort  took  the  field. 

The  fierce  sea-eagle,  humble  in  attire, 
In  port  terrific,  from  his  lonely  eyrie 
(Itself  a  burden  for  the  tallest  tree) 
Look'd  down  o'er  land  and  sea  as  his  dominions: 
Now,  from  long  chase,  descending  with  his  prey,      i 
Young  seal  or  dolphin,  in  his  deadly  clutch, 
He  fed  his  eaglets  in  the  noonday  sun  : 
Nor  less  at  midnight  ranged  the  deep  for  game ; 
At  length  entrapp'd  with  his  own  talons  struck 
Too  deep  to  be  withdrawn,  where  a  strong  shark, 


Etoi    ed  by  the  anguish,  with  impetuous  plunge, 
Dragg'd  his  assailant  down  into  the  abyss, 
Struggling  in  vain  for  liberty  and  life : 
His  young  ones  heard  their  parent's  dying  shrieks, 
And  watch'd  in  vain  for  his  returning  wing. 

Here  ran  the  stormy  petrels  on  the  waves, 
As  though  they  were  the  shadows  of  themselves 
Reflected  from  a  loftier  flight  through  space. 
The  stern  and  gloomy  raven  haunted  here, 
A  hermit  of  the  atmosphere,  on  land 
Among  vociferating  crowds  a  stranger, 
Whose  hoarse,  low,  ominous  croak  disclaim'd  com- 
munion 
With  those  upon  the  offal  of  whose  meals 
He  gorged  alone,  or  tore  their  own  rank  corses. 
The  heavy  penguin,  neither  fish  nor  fowl, 
With  scaly  feathers  and  with  finny  wings, 
Plump'd  stone-like  from  the  rock  into  the  gulf, 
Rebounding  upward  swift  as  from  a  sling. 
Through  yielding  water  as  through  limpid  air, 
The  cormorant,  Heath's  living  arrow,  flew, 
Nor  ever  miss'd  a  stroke,  or  dealt  a  second, 
So  true  the  infallible  destroyer's  aim. 

Millions  of  creatures  such  as  these,  and  kinds 
Unnamed  by  man,  possess'd  those  busy  isles; 
Each,  in  its  brief  existence,  to  itself 
The  first,  last  being  in  the  universe, 
With  whom  the  whole  began,  endured,  and  ended: 
Blest  ignorance  of  bliss  not  made  for  them ! 
Happy  exemption  from  the  fear  of  death, 
And  that  which  makes  the  pangs  of  death  immortal, 
The  undying  worm,  the  fire  unquenchable, 
—  Conscience,  the  bosom-hell  of  guilty  man! 
The  eyes  of  all  look'd  up  to  Him  whose  hand 
Had  made  them,  and  supplied  their  daily  need; 
Although  they  knew  Him  not,  they  look'd  to  Him; 
And  He,  whose  mercy  is  o'er  all  his  works, 
Forgot  not  one  of  his  large  familj-, 
But  cared  for  each  as  for  an  only  child. 
They  plough'd  not,  sow'd  not,  gather'd  not  in  barns, 
Thought  not  of  yesterday,  nor  knew  to-morrow  ; 
Yet  harvests  inexhaustible  they  reap'd 
In  the  prolific  furrows  of  the  main ; 
Or  from  its  sunless  caverns  brought  to  light 
Treasures  for  which  contending  kings  might  war, — 
Gems  for  which  queens  would  yield  their  hands  to 

slaves, — 
By  them  despised  as  valueless  and  nought: 


148 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VI. 


From  the  rough  shell  they  piek'd  the  luscious  food, 
And  left  a  prince's  ransom  in  the  pearl. 

Nature's  prime  favourites  were  the  Pelicans; 
High-fed,  long-lived,  and  sociable  and  free, 
They  ranged  in  wedded  pairs,  or  martial  bands, 
For  play  or  slaughter.     Oft  have  I  beheld 
A  little  army  take  the  wat'ry  field, 
With  outstretch'd  pinions  form  a  specious  ring. 
Then,  pressing  to  the  centre,  through  the  wave-. 
Enclose  thick  shoals  within  their  narrowing  toils, 
Till  multitudes  entangled  fell  a  prey : 
Or,  when  the  flying-fish,  in  sudden  clouds, 
Burst  from  the  sea,  and  flutter'd  through  the  air, 
These  giant  fowlers  snapp'd  them  like  musquitos 
By  swallows  hunted  through  the  summer  sky. 

I  turn'd  again  to  look  upon  that  isle, 
Whence  from  one  pair  those  colonies  had  issued 
That  through  these  Cyeladea  at  freedom  roved, 
Fish'd  every  stream,  and  fed  on  every  shore  : 
When,  lo!  a  spectacle  of  strange  extremes 
Awaken'd  sweet  and  melancholy  thoughts: 
All  that  is  helpless,  beautiful,  endearing 
In  infancy,  in  prime  of  youth,  in  love ; 
All  that  is  mournful  in  decay,  old  age, 
And  dissolution;  all  that  awes  the  eye, 
And  chills  the  bosom,  in  the  sad  remains 
Of  poor  mortality,  which  last  awhile, 
To  show  that  life  has  been,  but  is  no  longer  : 
—  All  these  in  blended  images  appear'd, 
Exulting,  brooding,  perishing  before  me. 

It  was  a  land  of  births. — Fnnuniber'd  nests, 
Of  reeds  and  rushes,  studded  all  the  ground : 
A  few  were  desolate  and  fallen  to  ruin  ; 
Many  were  buildiugs  from  those  waste  materials; 
On  some  the  dams  were  sitting,  till  the  stroke 
Of  their  quick  bills  should  break  the  prison-shells, 
And  let  the  little  captives  forth  to  light, 
With  their  first  breath  demanding  food  and  shelter. 
In  others  I  beheld  the  brood  new-fledged, 
Struggling  to  clamber  out,  take  wing  and  fly 
Up  to  the  heavens,  or  fathom  the  abyss  : 
Meanwhile  the  parent  from  the  sea  supplied 
A  daily  feast,  and  from  the  pure  lagoon 
Brought  living  water  in  her  sack,  to  cool 
The  impatient  fever  of  their  clamorous  throats  : 
No  need  had  she,  as  hieroglyphics  feign, 
(A  mystic  lesson  of  maternal  love,) 


To  pierce  her  breast,  and  with  the  vital  stream, 
Warm  from  its  fountain,  slake  their  thirst  in  blood, 
—  The  blood  which  nourish'd  them  ere  they  were 

hatch'd, 
While  the  crude  egg  within  herself  was  forming. 

It  was  a  land  of  death.— Between  those  nests 
The  quiet  earth  was  feather'd  with  the  spoils 
Of  aged  Pelicans,  that  hither  came 
To  die  in  peace,  where  they  had  spent  in  love 
The  sweetest  periods  of  their  long  existence. 
Where  they  were  wont   to   build    and   breed  their 

young, 
There  they  lay  down  to  rise  no  more  for  ever, 
And  close  their  eyes  upon  the  dearest  sight 
On  which  their  living  eyes  had  loved  to  dwell, 
—  The  nest  where  every  joy  to  them  was  centred. 
There,  rife  corruption  tainted  them  so  lightly, 
The  moisture  seem'd  to  vanish  from  their  relics 
As  dew  from  gossamer,  that  leaves  the  net-work 
Spread  on  the  ground,  and  glistening  in  the  sun  : 
Thus  when  a  breeze  the  ruffled  plumage  stirr'd, 
That  lay  like  drifted  snow  upon  the  soil, 
Their  slender  skeletons  were  seen  beneath, 
So  delicately  framed,  and  half  transparent, 
That  I  have  marvell'd  how  a  bird  so  noble 
When  in  his  full  magnificent  attire, 
With  pinions  wider  than  the  king  of  vultures', 
And  down  elastic  thicker  than  the  swan's, 
Should  leave  so  small  a  cage  of  ribs  to  mark 
Where  vigorous  life  had  dwelt  a  hundred  years. 

Such  was  that  scene;  the  dying  and  the  dead 
Next  neighbours  to  the  living  and  the  unborn. 
0  how  much  happiness  was  here  enjoy'd ! 
How  little  misery  had  been  suffer'd  here ! 
Those  humble  Pelicans  had  each  fulfill'd 
The  utmost  purpose  of  its  span  of  being, 
And  done  its  duty  in  its  narrow  circle, 
As  surely  as  the  sun,  in  his  career, 
Accomplishes  the  glorious  end  of  his. 


CANTO     SIXTH. 

"And  thus,"  methought,  "ton  thousand  suns  may 

lead 
The  stars  to  glory  in  their  annual  courses; 
Moons  without  number  thus  may  wax  and  wane, 
And  winds  alternate  blow  in  eross-monsoons, 


Canto  VI. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


149 


While  hero, —  through  self-beginning  rounds,  self- 
ending, 
Then  self-reneVd,  without  advance  or  failure, — 
Existence  fluctuates  only  like  the  tide, 
Whose  everlasting  changes  bring  no  change, 
But  billow  follows  billow  to  the  shore, 
Recoils,  and  billow  out  of  billow  swells; 
An  endless  whirl  of  ebbing,  flowing  foam, 
Where  every  bubble  is  like  every  other, 
And  Ocean's  face  immutable  as  Heaven's. 
Here  is  no  progress  to  sublimer  life  ; 
Nature  stands  still,- — stands  at  the  very  point 
Whence  from  a  vantage-ground  her  bolder  steps 
Might  rise  resplendent  on  the  scale  of  being; 
Rank  over  rank,  awakening  with  her  tread, 
Inquisitive,  intelligent;  aspiring 
Each  above  other,  all  above  themselves, 
Till  every  generation  should  transcend 
The  former,  as  the  former  all  the  past. 

"Such,  such  alone,  were  meet  inhabitants 
For  these  fair  isles,  so  wonderfully  form'd 
Amidst  the  solitude  of  sea  and  sky, 
On  which  my  wandering  spirit  first  was  cast, 
And  still  beyond  whose  girdle  eye  nor  wing 
Can  carry  me  to  undiscover'd  climes, 
Where  many  a  nobler  race  may  dwell  ;  whose  waifs 
And  exiles,  toss'd  by  tempests  on  the  flood, 
Hither  might  drift  upon  their  native  trees; 
Or,  like  their  own  free  birds,  on  fearless  pinions, 
Make  voyages  amidst  the  pathless  heaven, 
And,  lighting,  colonise  these  fertile  tracts, 
Recover'd  from  the  barrenness  of  ocean, 
Whose  wealth  might  well  repay  the  brave  adventure. 
—  Hath  Nature  spent  her  strength?     Why  stopp'd 

she  here  ? 
Why  stopp'd  not  lower,  if  to  rise  no  higher? 
Can  she  not  summon  from  more  ancient  regions, 
Beyond  the  rising  or  the  setting  sun, 
Creatures  as  far  above  the  mightiest  here 
As  yonder  eagle,  flaming  at  high  noon, 
Outsoars  the  bat  that  flutters  through  the  twilight; 
Or  as  the  tender  Pelican  excels 
The  anomalous  abortion  of  the  rock, 
In  which  plant,  fossil,  animal,  unite? 

"But  changes  here  may  happen  —  changes  must! 
What  hinders  that  new  shores  should  yet  ascend 
Out  of  the  bosom  of  the  deep,  and  spread 
Till  all  converge,  from  one  circumference, 


Into  a  solid  breadth  of  table-land, 

Bound  by  the  horizon,  canopied  with  Heaven, 

And  ocean  in  his  own  abyss  absorb'd?" 

While  these  imaginations  cross'd  the  mind, 
My  thoughts  fulfill'd  themselves  before  mine  eyes: 
The  islands  moved  like  circles  upon  water, 
Expanding  till  they  touch'd  each  other,  closed 
The  interjacent  straits,  and  thus  became 
A  spacious  continent  which  fill'd  the  sea. 
That  change  was  total,  like  a  birth,  a  death ; 
—  Birth,  that  from  native  darkness  brings  to  light 
The  young  inhabitant  of  this  gay  world; 
Death,  that  from  seen  to  unseen  tilings  removes, 
And  swallows  time  up  in  eternity. 
That  which  had  been,  for  ever  ceased  to  bo; 
And  that  which  follow'd,  was  a  new  creation 
Wrought  from  the  disappearance  of  the  old. 
So  fled  that  pageant  universe  away, 
With  all  its  isles  and  waters.     So  I  found 
Myself  translated  to  that  other  world, 
By  sleight  of  fancy,  like  the  unconscious  act 
Of  waking  from  a  pleasant  dream,  with  sweet 
Relapse  into  a  more  transporting  vision. 

The  nursery  of  brooding  Pelicans, 
The  dormitory  of  their  dead,  had  vanish'd, 
And  all  the  minor  spots  of  rock  and  verdure, 
The  abodes  of  happy  millions,  were  no  more;  — 
But  in  their  place  a  shadowy  landscape  lay, 
On  whose  extrcmest  western  verge  a  gleam 
Of  living  silver,  to  the  downward  sun 
Intensely  glittering,  mark'd  the  boundary  line, 
Which  ocean,  held  by  chains  invisible, 
Fretted  and  foam'd  in  vain  to  overleap. 
Woods,  mountains,  valleys,  rivers,  glens,  and  plains 
Diversified  the  scene  :  —  that  scene  was  wild, 
Magnificent,  deform'd,  or  beautiful, 
As  framed  expressly  for  all  kinds  of  life, 
With  all  life's  labours,  sufferings,  and  enjoyments, 
Untouch'd  as  yet  by  any  meaner  hand 
Than  His  who  made  it,  and  pronounced  it  good. 
And  good  it  was  ;  —  free  as  light,  air,  fire,  water, 
To  every  thing  that  breathed  upon  its  surface, 
From  the  small  worm  that  crept  abroad  at  midnight 
To  sip  cool  dews,  and  feed  on  sleeping  flowers, 
Then  slunk  into  its  hole,  the  little  vampire  ! 
Through  every  species  which  I  yet  had  seen, 
To  animals  of  tribes  and  forms  unknown 
In  the  lost  islands  ; — beasts  that  ranged  the  forests, 


150 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VI. 


Grazed  in  the  valleys,  bounded  o'er  the  hills, 

Reposed  in  rich  savannas,  from  gray  rocks 

Pick'd    the    thin  herbage    sprouting   through  their 

fissures  ; 
Or  in  waste  bowling  deserts  found  oases, 
And  fountains  pouring  sweeter  streams  than  nectar, 
And  more  melodious  than  the  nightingale, 
—  So  to  the  faint  and  perishing  they  seem'd. 

I  gazed  on  ruminating  herds  of  kine, 
And  sheep  for  ever  wandering;  goats  that  swung 
Like  spiders  on  the  crags,  so  slight  their  hold; 
Deer  playful  as  their  fawns  in  peace,  but  fell 
As  battling  bulls  in  wars  of  jealousy  : 
Through  flowery  champaigns  roam'd  the  fleet  ga- 
zelles, 
Of  many  a  colour,  size,  and  shape, — all  graceful; 
In  every  look,  step,  attitude,  prepared, 
Even  at  the  shadow  of  a  cloud,  to  vanish, 
And  leave  a  solitude  where  thousands  stood, 
With  heads  declined,  and  nibbling  eagerly, 
As  locusts  when  they  light  on  some  new  soil, 
And  move  no  more  till  they  have  shorn  it  bare. 
On  these,  with  famine  unappeasable, 
Lithe,  muscular,  huge-boned,  and  limh'd  for  leaping, 
The  brindled  tyrants  of  brute  nature  prey'd : 
The  weak  and  timid  liow'd  before  the  strong, 
The  many  by  the  few  were  hourly  slaughtered, 
Where  power  was  right,  and  violence  was  law. 

Here  couch'd  the  panting  tiger,  on  the  watch; 
Impatient,  but  unmoved,  his  fire-ball  eyes 
Made  horrid  twilight  in  the  sunless  jungle, 
Till  on  the  heedless  buffalo  he  sprang, 
Dragg*d  the  low-bellowing  monster  to  his  lair, 
Crash'd  through  the  ribs  at  once  into  its  heart, 
Quaff'd  the  hot  blond,  and  gorged  the  quivering  flesh, 
Till  drunk  he  lay  as  powerless  as  the  carcass. 

There  to  the  solitary  lion's  roar 
So  many  echoes  answer'd,  that  there  seem'd 
Ten  in  the  field  for  one;  —  where'er  they  turn'd, 
The  Hying  animals  from  cave  to  cave 
Heard  his  voice  issuing,  and  reeoil'd,  aghast, 
Only  to  meet  it  nearer  than  before, 
Or,  ere  they  saw  his  shadow  or  his  face, 
Fall  dead  beneath  his  thunder-striking  paw. 

Calm  amidst  scenes  of  havoc,  in  his  own 
strength  impregnable,  the  elephant 


Offended  none,  but  led  his  quiet  life 

Among  his  old  contemporary  trees, 

Till  Nature  laid  hiin  gently  down  to  rest 

Beneath  the  palm  which  he  was  wout  to  make 

His  prop  in  slumber;  there  his  relics  lay 

Longer  than  life  itself  had  dwelt  within  them. 

Bees  in  the  ample  hollow  of  his  skull 

Piled  their  wax-citadels,  and  stored  their  honey; 

Thence  sallied  forth  to  forage  through  the  fields, 

And  swarm'd  in  emigrating  legions  thence: 

There  little  burrowing  animals  threw  up 

Hillocks  beneath  the  overarching  ribs ; 

While  birds,  within  the  spinal  labyrinth, 

Contrived  their  nests :  —  so  wandering  Arabs  pitch 

Their  tents  amidst  Palmyra's  palaces; 

So  Greek  and  Roman  peasants  build  their  huts 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Parthenon 

Or  on  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol. 

But  unintelligent  creation  soon 
Fail'd  to  delight;  the  novelty  departed, 
And  all  look'd  desolate;  my  eye  grew  weary 
Of  seeing  that  which  it  might  see  for  ever, 
Without  a  new  idea  or  emotion  ; 
The  mind  within  me  panted  after  mind, 
The  spirit  sigh'd  to  meet  a  kindred  spirit, 
And  in  my  human  heart  there  was  a  void. 
Which  nothing  but  humanity  could  fill. 
At  length,  as  though  a  prison-door  were  open'd, 
Chains  had  fall'n  off,  and,  by  an  angel-guide 
Conducted,  I  escaped  that  desert-bourne ; 
And  instantaneously  I  travell'd  on, 
Yet  knew  not  how,  for  wings  nor  feet  I  plied, 
But,  with  a  motion  like  the  lapse  of  thought, 
O'er  many  a  vale  and  mountain  I  was  carried, 
Till  in  the  cast,  above  the  ocean's  brim, 
I  saw  the  morning  sun,  and  stay'd  my  course, 
Where  vestiges  of  rude  but  social  life 
Arrested  and  dctain'd  attention  long. 

Amidst  the  crowd  of  grovelling  animals, 
A  being  more  majestic  stood  before  me  : 
I  met  an  eye  that  look'd  into  my  soul, 
And  seem'd  to  penetrate  mine  inmost  thoughts: 
Instinctively  I  turn'd  away  to  hide  them, 
For  shame  and  quick  compunction  came  upon  me, 
As  though  detected  on  forbidden  ground, 
Gazing  on  things  unlawful; — but  my  heart 
Relented  quickly,  and  my  bosom  tbrobb'd 
With  such  unutterable  tenderness, 


Canto  VI. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


151 


That  every  sympathy  of  human  nature 

Was  by  the  beating  of  a  pulse  enkindled, 

And  flash'd  at  once  throughout  the  mind's  recesses 

As  in  a  dorken'd  chamber  objects  start 

All  round  the  walls  the  moment  light  breaks  in. 

The  sudden  tumult  of  surprise  awoke 

My  spirit  from  that  trance  of  vague  abstraction, 

'Wherein  I  lived  through  ages,  and  beheld 

Their  generations  pass  so  swiftly  by  me, 

Thai  years  were  moments  in  their  flight,  and  hours 

The  scenes  of  crowded  centuries  reveal'd  ; 

I  sole  spectator  of  the  wondrous  changes, 

Spell-bound  as  in  a  dream,  and  acquiescing 

In  all  that  happen'd,  though  perplex'd  with  strange 

Conceit  of  something  wanting  through  the  whole. 

That  spell  was  broken,  like  the  vanish'd  film 

From  eyes  born  blind,  miraculously  open'd;  — 

'Twos  gone,  and  I  became  myself  again, 

Restored  to  memory  of  all  I  knew 

From  books  or  schools,  the  world  or  sage  experience: 

With  all  that  folly  or  misfortune  taught  me, — 

Each  hath  her  lessons, —  wise  are  they  that  learn. 

Still  the  mysterious  reverie  went  on, 

And  I  was  still  sole  witness  of  its  issues, — 

Cut  with  clear  mind  and  disenchanted  sight, 

Beholding,  judging,  comprehending  all  ; 

Not  passive  and  bewilder'd  as  before. 

What  was  the  being  which  I  then  beheld  ? 

—  Man  going  forth  amidst  inferior  creatures  : 
Not  as  he  rose  in  Eden  out  of  dust, 

Fresh  from  the  moulding  hand  of  Deity  ; 

Immortal  breath  upon  his  lips  ;  the  light 

Of  uncreated  glory  in  his  soul  ; 

Lord  of  the  nether  universe,  and  heir 

Of  all  above  him, —  all  above  the  sky, 

The  sapphire  pavement  of  his  future  palace : 

Not  so  ;  —  but  rather  like  that  morning-star 

Which  from  the  highest  empyrean  fell 

Into  the  bottomless  abyss  of  darkness; 

There  flaming  only  with  malignant  beams 

Among  the  constellations  of  his  peers, 

The  third  part  of  heaven's  host,  with  him  cast  down 

To  irretrievable  perdition, —  thence, 

Amidst  the  smoke  of  unillumined  fires, 

Issuing  like  horrid  sparks  to  blast  creation  : 

—  Thus,  though  in  dim  eclipse,  before  me  stood, 
As  from  a  world  invisible  eall'd  up, 

Man,  in  the  image  of  his  Maker  form'd, — 
Man,  to  the  image  of  his  tempter  fall'n : 


Yet  still  as  far  above  infernal  fiends, 

As  once  a  little  lower  than  the  angels. 

I  knew  him,  own'd  him,  loved  him,  and  exclaiin'd, 

"  Bone  of  my  bone,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  my  Brother  ! 

Hail  in  the  depth  of  thy  humiliation ; 

For  dear  thou  art,  amidst  unconscious  ruin, — 

Dear  to  the  kindliest  feelings  of  my  soul, 

As  though  one  womb  had  borne  us,  and  one  mother 

At  her  sweet  breasts  had  nourish'd  us  as  twins." 

I  saw  him  sunk  in  loathsome  degradation, 
A  naked,  fierce,  ungovernable  savage, 
Companion  to  the  brutes,  hitnself  more  brutal; 
Superior  only  in  the  craft  that  made 
The  serpent  subtlest  beast  of  all  the  field, 
Whose  guile  unparadised  the  world,  and  brought 
A  curse  upon  the  earth  which  Gon  had  bless'd. 
That  curse  was  here,  without  the  mitigation 
Of  healthful  toil,  that  half  redeems  the  ground 
Whence  man  was  taken,  whither  he  returns. 
And  which  repays  him  bread  for  patient  labour, 

—  Labour,  the  symbol  of  his  punishment, 

—  Labour,  the  secret  of  his  happiness. 

The  curse  was  here  ;  for  thorns  and  briars  o'erran 
The  tangled  labyrinths, —  j-et  briars  bare  roses, 
And  thorns  threw  out  their  annual  snow  of  blossoms: 
The  curse  was  here:  and  yet  the  soil  untill'd 
Pour'd  forth  spontaneous  and  abundant  harvests, 
Pulse  and  small  berries,  maize  in  strong  luxuriance, 
And  slender  rice  that  grew  by  many  waters  ; 
The  forests  cast  their  fruits,  in  husk  or  rind, 
Yielding  sweet  kernels  or  delicious  pulp, 
Smooth  oil,  cool  milk,  and  unferniented  wine, 
In  rich  and  exquisite  variety. 
On  these  the  indolent  inhabitants 
Fed  without  care  or  forethought,  like  the  swine 
That  grubb'd  the  turf,  and  taught  them  where  to 

look 
For  dainty  earth-nuts  and  nutritious  roots; 
Or  the  small  monkeys,  capering  on  the  boughs, 
And  rioting  on  nectar  and  ambrosia, 
The  produce  of  that  Paradise  run  wild  :  — 
Xo, —  these  were  merry,  if  they  were  not  wise  ; 
While  man's  untutor'd  hordes  were  sour  and  sullen, 
Like  those  abhorr'd  baboons,  whose  gluttonous  taste 
They  follow'd  safely  in  their  choice  of  food; 
And  whose  brute  semblance  of  humanity 
Made  them  more  hideous  than  their  prototypes, 
That  bore  the  genuine  image  and  inscription, 
Defaced  indeed,  but  yet  indelible. 


152 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VI. 


—  From  ravening  beasts  and  fowls  that  fisk'd  the 

ocean, 
Men  learn'd  to  prey  on  meaner  animals, 
But  found  a  secret  out  which  birds  or  beasts, 
Most  cruel,  cunning,  treacherous,  never  knew, 

—  The  luxury  of  devouring  one  another. 

Such  were  my  kindred  in  their  lost  estate, 
From  whose  abominations  while  I  turn'd, 
As  from  a  pestilence,  I  mourn'd  and  wept 
With  bitter  lamentation  o'er  their  ruin  ; 
Sunk  as  they  were  in  ignorance  of  all 
That  raises  man  above  his  origin, 
And  elevates  to  heaven  the  spirit  within  him, 
To  which  the  Almighty's  breath  gave  understanding. 

Large  was  their  stature,  and  their  frames  athletic  ; 
Their   skins    were    dark,   their   locks   like   eagles' 

feathers ; 
Their  features  terrible;  —  when  roused  to  wrath, 
All  evil  passions  lighten'd  through  their  eyes, 
Convulsed  their  bosoms  like  possessing  fiends, 
And  loosed  what  sets  on  fire  the  course  of  nature, 

—  The  tongue  of  malice,  set  on  fire  of  hell, 
Which  then,  in  cataracts  of  horrid  sounds, 
Raged  through  their  gnashing  teeth  and   foaming 

lips, 
Making  the  ear  to  tingle,  and  the  soul 
Sicken,  with  spasms  of  strange  revolting  horror, 
As  if  the  blood  changed  colour  in  the  veins, 
While  hot  and  cold  it  ran  about  the  heart, 
And  red  to  pale  upon  the  cheek  it  show'd. 
Their  visages  at  rest  were  winter-clouds, 
Fix'd   gloom,    whence    sun    nor   shower   could  be 

foretold  ; 
But  in  high  revelry,  when  full  of  prey, 
Cannibal  prey,  tremendous  was  their  laughter; 
Their  joy,  the  shook  of  earthquakes  overturning 
Mountains,  and  swamping  rivers  in  their  course ; 
Or  subterranean  elements  embroil'd, — 
Wind,  fire,  and  water,  till  the  cleft  volcano 
Gives  to  their  devastating  fury  vent  : 
That  joy  was  lurking  hatred  in  disguise, 
And  not  less  fatal  in  its  last  excess  : 
They    danced, — like   whirlwinds    in    the    Libyan 

waste 
When  the  dead  sand  starts  up  in  living  pillars, 
That  mingle,  part,  and  cross,  then  burst  in  ruin 
On  man  and  beast ;  —  they  danced  to  shouts  and 

screams, 


Brums,  gongs,  and  horns,  their  deafening  din  in- 
flicting 
On  nerves  and  ears  enraptured  with  such  clangour ; 
Till  mirth  grew  madness,  and  the  feast  a  fray, 
That  left  the  field  strown  with  unnatural  carnage, 
To  furnish  out  a  more  unnatural  feast, 
And  lay  the  train  to  inflame  a  bloodier  fray. 

They  dwelt  in  dens  and  caverns  of  the  earth 
Won  by  the  valiant  from  their  brute  possessors. 
And  held  in  hourly  peril  of  reprisals 
From  the  ferocious  brigand  of  the  woods; 
The  lioness,  benighted  with  her  whelps, 
There  seeking  shelter  from  the  drenching  storm, 
Met  with  unseen  resistance  on  the  threshold, 
And  perish'd  ere  she  knew  by  what  she  fell ; 
Or,  finding  all  within  asleep,  surprised 
The  inmates  in  their  dreams,  from  which  no  more 
Her  deadly  vengeance  suffer'd  them  to  wake. 

—  On  open  plains  they  framed  low  narrow  huts 
Of  boughs,  the  wreck  of  windfalls  or  of  Time, 
Wattled  with  canes,  and   thatch'd  with  reeds  and 

leaves  ; 
There  from  afflictive  noon  sought  twilight  shadow, 
Or  slumber'd  in  the  smoke  of  greenwood  fires, 
To  drive  away  the  pestilent  musquitos. 

—  Some  built  unwieldy  nests  among  the  trees, 
In  which  to  doze  by  night,  or  watch  by  day 
The  joyful  moment  from  that  ambuscade 

To  slay  the  passing  antelope,  or  wound 

The  jackal  chasing  it,  with  sudden  arrows 

From  bows  that  task'd  a  giant's  strength  to  bend. 

In  flight  or  combat,  on  the  champaign  field, 

They  ran  atilt  with  flinty-headed  spears; 

Or  launch'd  the  lighter  javelin  through  the  air. 

Follow'd  its  motion  with  a  basilisk's  eye, 

And  shriek'd  with  gladness  when  a  life  was  spill'd  : 

They  sent  the  pebble  hissing  from  the  sling, 

Hot  as  the  curse  from  lips  that  would  strike  dead, 

If  words   were   stones ;    here   stones,    as    swift   as 

words 
Can  reach  the  ear,  the  unwary  victim  smote. 
In  closer  conflict,  breast  to  breast,  when  one 
Or  both  must  perish  on  the  spot,  they  fought 
With  clubs  of  iron-wood  and  ponderous  force, 
Wielded  with  terrible  dexterity, 
And,  falling  down  like  thunderbolts,  which  nought 
But  counter-thunderbolts  could  meet  or  parry. 
Rude-fashion'd  weapons  !  yet  the  lion's  jaws, 
The  tiger's  grasp,  the  eagle's  beak  and  talons. 


Canto  VI. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


153 


The  serpent's  fangs,  were  not  more  formidable, 
More  sure  to  hit,  or,  hitting,  sure  to  kill. 

They  knew   not   shame   nor  honour,  yet  knew 
pride  : 

—  The  pride  of  strength,  skill,  speed,  and  subtilty  ; 
The  pride  of  tyranny  and  violence  :  — 

Not  o'er  the  mighty  only,  whom  their  arm 

Had  crush'd  in  battle,  or  had  basely  slain 

By  treacherous  ambush,  or  more  treacherous  smiles, 

Embracing  while  they  stabb'd  the  heart  that  met 

Their  specious  seemiug  with  unguarded  breast; 

—  The  reckless  savages  display'd  their  pride 
By  vile  oppression  in  its  vilest  forms, — 
Oppression  of  the  weak  and  innocent; 
Infancy,  womanhood,  old  age,  disease, 

The  lame,  the  halt,  the  blind,  were  wrong'd,  neg- 
lected, 
Exposed  to  perish  by  wild  beasts  in  woods, 
Cast  to  the  crocodiles  in  rivers  ;  murder' d, 
Even  by  their  dearest  kindred,  in  cold  blood, 
To  rid  themselves  of  Nature's  gracious  burdens, 
In  mercy  laid  on  man  to  teach  him  mercy. 

But  their  prime  glory  was  insane  debauch, 
To  inflict  and  bear  excruciating  tortures : 
The  unshrinking  victim,  while  the  flesh  was  rent 
From  bis  live  limbs,  and  eaten  in  his  presence, 
Still  in  his  death-pangs  taunted  his  tormentors 
With  tales  of  cruelty  more  diabolic, 
Wreak'd  by  himself  upon  the  friends  of  those 
Who  now  their  impotence  of  vengeance  wasted 
On  him,  and  drop  by  drop  his  life  extorted 
With  thorns  and  briars  of  the  wilderness, 
Or  the  slow  violence  of  untouching  fire. 

Vanity,  too,  pride's  mannikin,  here  play'd 
Satanic  tricks  to  ape  her  master-fiend. 
The  leopard's  beauteous  spoils,  the  lion's  mane, 
Engirt  the  loins  and  waved  upon  the  shoulders 
Of  those  whose  wiles  or  arms  had  won  such  trophies  : 
Rude-punctured  figures  of  all  loathsome  things, 
Toads,  scorpions,    asps,    snakes'   eyes   and   double 

tongue, 
In  flagrant  colours  on  their  tattoo'd  limbs, 
Gave  proof  of  intellect,  not  dead,  but  sleeping, 
And  in  its  trance  enacting  strango  vagaries. 
Bracelets  of  human  teeth,  fangs  of  wild  beasts, 
The  jaws  of  sharks,  and  beaks  of  ravenous  birds, 
Glitter'd  and  tinkled  round  their  arms  and  ankles; 


While  skulls  of  slaughter'd  enemies,  in  chains 
Hi'  natural  elf-locks,  dangled  from  the  uceks 
(>>   those  whose  own  bare  skulls  and  cannibal  teeth 
Ere  long  must  deck  more  puissant  fiends  than  they. 

On  ocean,  too,  they  exercised  dominion  :  — 
Of  hollow  trees  composing  slight  canoes, 
They    paddled    o'er    the    reefs,   cut    through    the 

breakers, 
And  rode  the  untamed  billows  far  from  shore  : 
Amphibious  from  their  infancy,  and  fearing 
Nought  in  the  deepest  waters  save  the  sharl:  ;  — 
Even  him,  well  arm'd,  they  gloried  to  encounter, 
And  when  he  turn'd  to  ope  those  gates  of  death 
That  led  into  the  Hades  of  his  gorge, 
Smote  with  such  stern  decision  to  his  vitals, 
And  vanish'd  through  the  blood-beclouded  waves, 
That,  blind  and  desperate  in  his  agony, 
Headlong  he  plunged,  and  perish'd  in  the  abyss. 

Woman  was  here  the  powerless  slave  of  man  : 
Thus  fallen  Adam  tramples  fallen  Eve, 
Through  all  the  generations  of  his  sons, 
In  whose  barbarian  veins  the  old  serpent's  venom 
Turns  pure  affection  into  hideous  lust, 
And  wrests  the  might  of  his  superior  arm 
(Given  to  defend  and  bless  his  meek  companion) 
Into  the  very  yoke  and  scourge  of  bondage; 
Till  limbs  by  beauty  moulded,  eyes  of  gladness, 
And  the  full  bosom  of  confiding  truth, — 
Made  to  delight  and  comfort  him  in  toil, 
And  change  Care's  den  into  a  halcyon's  nest, — 
Are  broke  with  drudgery,  quench'd  with  stagnant 

tears, 
Or  wrung  with  lonely  unimparted  woe. 
Man  is  beside  himself,  not  less  than  fall'n 
Below  his  dignity,  who  owns  not  woman 
As  nearer  to  his  heart  than  when  she  grew 
A  rib  within  him, —  as  his  heart's  own  heart. 

ne  slew  the  game  with  his  unerring  arrow, 
But  left  it  in  the  bush  for  her  to  drag 
Home,  with  her  feeble  hands,  already  burden'd 
With  a  young  infant  clinging  to  her  shoulders. 
Here  she  fell  down  in  travail  by  the  way, 
Her  piteous  groans  unheard,  or,  heard,  unanswer'd  ; 
There,  with  her  convoy,  she  —  mother,  and  child, 
And  slaughter'd  deer  —  became  some  wild  beast's 

prey  ; 
Though  spoils  so  rich  not  one  could  long  enjoy, — 


lji 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VII. 


Soon  the  woods  echoed  with  the  huge  uproar 

Of  savage  throats  contending  for  the  bodies, 
Till  not  a  bone  was  left  for  farther  quarrel. 

—  He  eli use  the  spot;  she  piled  the  wood,  she  wove 
The  supple  withes,  and  bound  the  thatch  that  form'd 
The  ground-built  cabin  or  the  tree-swung  nest. 

—  He  brain'd  the  drowsy  panther  in  his  den, 
At  noon  o'ercome  by  heat,  and  with  closed  lids 
Fearing  assaults  from  none  but  vexing  flies, 
Which,  with  his  ring-streak'd  tail  he  Bwitch'd  away  : 
The  citadel  thus  storm'd,  the  monster  slain, 

By  the  dread  prowess  of  his  daring  arm, 

She  roll'd  the  stones,  and  planted  the  stockade, 

To  fortify  the  garrison  for  him 

Who  scornfully  look'd  on,  at  ease  reclined, 

Or  only  rose  to  beat  her  to  the  task. 

Yet,  'midst  the  gall  and  wormwood  of  her  lot, 
She  tasted  joys  which  none  but  woman  knows. 

—  The  hopes,  fears,  feelings,  raptures  of  a  mother, 
Well-nigh  compensating  for  his  unkindness, 
Whom  yet  with  all  her  fervent  soul  she  loved. 
Dearer  to  her  than  all  the  universe, 

The  looks,  the  cries,  the  embraces  of  her  babes; 

In  each  of  whom  she  lived  a  separate  life, 

And  felt  the  fountain,  whence  their  veins  were  fill'd, 

Flow  in  perpetual  union  with  the  streams 

That  swell'd  their  pulses,  and  throbb'd  back  through 

hers. 
Oh  !  'twas  benign  relief  when  my  vex'd  eye 
Could  turn  from  man,  the  sordid,  selfish  savage, 
And  gaze  on  woman  in  her  self-denial, 
To  him  and  to  their  offspring  all  alive, 
Dead  only  to  herself,— save  when  she  won 
His  unexpected  smile;  then,  then  she  look'd 
A  thousand  times  more  beautiful,  to  meet 
A  glance  of  aught  like  tenderness  from  him; 
And  sent  the  sunshine  of  her  happy  heart 
So  warm  into  the  charnel-house  of  his, 
That  Nature's  genuine  sympathies  awoke, 
And  he  almost  forgot  himself  in  her. 
0  mau  !  lost  man  !  amidst  the  desolation 
Of  goodness  in  thy  soul  there  yet  remains 
One  -park  of  Deity,— that  spark  is  love. 

CANTO    SEVENTH. 

Ages  again  with  silent  revolution, 

Brought  morn  and  even,  noon  and  night,  with  all 

The  old  vicissitudes  of  Nature's  aspect: 


Rains  in  their  seasons  fertilised  the  ground, 

Winds  sow'd  the  seeds  of  every  kind  of  plant 

On  its  peculiar  soil;  while  suns  matured 

What  winds  had  sown,  and  rains  in  season  water'd, 

Providing  nourishment  for  all  that  lived  : 

Man's  generations  came  and  went  like  these, 

—  The  grass  and  flowers    that  wither  where   they 

spring; 

—  The  brutes  that  perish  wholly  where  they  fall. 

Thus  while  I  mused  on  these  in  long  succession, 
And  all  retnain'd  as  all  had  been  before, 
I  cried,  as  I  was  wont,  though  none  did  listen, 
— 'Tis    sweet    sometimes    to    speak    and    be    the 

hearer; 
For  he  is  twice  himself  who  can  converse 
With  his  own  thoughts,  as  with  a  living  throng 
Of  fellow-travellers  in  solitude  : 
And  mine  too  long  had  been  my  sole  companions : 
— "  What  is  this  mystery  of  humau  life? 
In  rude  or  civilised  society, 
Alike,  a  pilgrim's  progress  through  this  world 
To  that  which  is  to  come,  by  the  same  stages; 
With  infinite  diversity  of  fortune 
To  each  distinct  adventurer  by  the  way  ! 

"  Life  is  the  transmigration  of  a  soul 
Through  various  bodies,  various  states  of  being ; 
New  manners,  passions,  tastes,  pursuits,  in  each; 
In  nothing,  save  in  consciousness  the  same. 
Infancy,  adolescence,  manhood,  age. 
Are  alway  moving  onward,  alway  losing 
Themselves  in  one  another,  lost  at  length, 
Like  undulations,  on  the  strand  of  death. 
The  sage  of  threescore  years  and  ten  looks  back, — 
Witli  many  a  pang  of  lingering  tenders 
And  many  a  shuddering  conscience-fit, —  on  what 
He  hath  been,  is  not,  cannot  be  again  ; 
Nor  trembles  less  with  fear  and  hope,  to  think 
What  he  is  now.  but  cannot  long  continue, 
And  what  he  must  be  through  uncounted  ages. 
The  Child;  —  we  know  no  more  of  happy  child- 
hood 
Than  happy  childhood  knows  of  wretched  old ; 
And  all  our  dreams  of  its  felicity 
Are  incoherent  as  its  own  crude  visions : 
We  but  begin  to  live  from  that  fine  point 
Which  memory  dwells  on.  with  the  morning  star. 
The  earliest  note  we  heard  the  cuckoo  sing. 
Or  the  first  daisy  that  we  ever  pluck'd, 


Canto  VII. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


155 


When  thoughts    themselves  were  stars,  aud  birds 

and  flowers, 
Pure  brilliance,  simplest  music,  wild  perfume. 
Thenceforward  mark  the  metamorphoses ! 

—  The  Boy,  the  Girl; — when  all  was  joy,  hope, 
promise : 

Yet  who  would  be  a  Boy,  a  Girl,  again, 

To  bear  the  yoke,  to  long  for  liberty, 

And  dream  of  what  will  never  come  to  pass? 

—  The  Youth,  the  .Maiden  :  —living  but  for  love, 
Yet  learning  soon  that  life  hath  other  care?, 
And  joys  less  rapturous,  but  more  enduring: 

—  The  Woman  ;  —  in  her  offspring  multiplied ; 
A  tree  of  life,  whose  glory  is  her  branches. 
Beneath  whose  shadow,  she  (both  root  aud  stem) 
Delights  to  dwell  in  meek  obscurity, 

That  they  may  be  the  pleasure  of  beholders  : 

—  The  Man  :  —  as  father  of  a  progeny, 

Whose  birth  requires  his  death  to  make  them  room, 
Yet  in  whose  lives  he  feels  his  resurrection, 
And  -rows  immortal  in  his  children's  children  : 

—  Then  the  gray  Elder ;  —  leaning  on  his  staff, 
And  bow'd  beneath  a  weight  of  years,  that  steal 
Upon  him  with  the  secrecy  of  sleep, 

(No  snow  falls  lighter  than  the  snow  of  age, 

None  with  such  subtilty  benumbs  the  frame,) 

Till  be  forgets  sensation,  and  lies  down 

Dead  in  the  lap  of  his  primeval  mother: 

She  throws  a  shroud  of  turf  and  flowers  around  him, 

Then  calls  the  worms,  and  bids  them  do  their  office  : 

—  Man  giveth  up  the  ghost,— and  where  is  he?" 

That  startling  question  broke  my  lucubration  : 
I  saw  those  changes  realised  before  me; 
Baw  them  recurring  in  perpetual  line, 
The  line  unbroken,  while  the  thread  ran  on, 
Failing  at  this  extreme,  at  that  renew'd, 

—  Like  buds,  leaves,  blossoms,  fruits  on  herbs  and 

trees  ; 
Like    mites,  flies,  reptiles;    birds,  and  beasts,  and 

fishes, 
Of  every  length  of  period  here,— all  mortal, 
And  all  resolved  into  those  elements 
Whence  they  had  emanated,  whence  they  drew 
Their  sustenance,  and  which  their  wrecks  recruited, 
To  generate  and  foster  other  forms 
As  like  themselves  as  were  the  lights  of  heaven, 
For  ever  moving  in  serene  succession, 

—  Not  like  those  lights  unquenchable  by  time, 
But  ever  changing,  like  the  clouds  that  come, 


Who  can  tell  whence?  and  go,  who  can  tell  whither  ? 

Thus  the  swift  series  of  man's  race  elapsed, 

As  for  no  higher  destiny  created 

Than  aught  beneath  them,— from  the  elephant 

Down  to  the  worm,  thence  to  the  zoophyte, 

That  link  which  binds  Prometheus  to  his  rock, 

The  living  fibre  to  insensate  matter. 

They  were  not,  then  they  were;    the  unborn,  the 

li\  ing ! 
They  were,  then  were  not :  they  had  lived  and  died  : 
No  trace,  no  record,  of  their  date  remaining, 
Save  in  the  memory  of  kindred  beings, 
Themselves  as  surely  hastening  to  oblivion; 
Till,  where  the  soil  had  been  renew'd  by  relics, 
And  earth,  air.  water,  were  one  sepulchre, 
Earth,  air,  and  water  might  be  search'd  in  vain, 
Atom  by  atom  scrutinised  with  eyes 
Of  microscopic  power,  that  could  discern 
The  population  of  a  dew-drop,  yet 
No  particle  betray  the  buried  secret 
Of  what  they  had  been,  or  of  what  they  were : 
Life  thus  was  swallow'd  by  mortality, 
Mortality  thus  swallow'd  up  of  life, 
Aiol  man  reinain'd  the  world's  unmoved  possessor, 
Though  every  moment  men  appear'd  and  vanish'd. 

Oh  !  'twas  heart-sickness  to  behold  them  thus 
Perishing  without  knowledge;  —  perishing 
As  though  they  were  but  things  of  dust  and  ashes. 
They  lived,  unconscious  of  their  noblest  powers, 
As  were  the  rocks  and  mountains  which  they  trod 
Of  gold  and  jewels  hidden  in  their  bowels; 
They  lived  unsconscious  of  what  lived  within  them, 
The  deathless  spirit,  as  were  the  stars  that  shone 
Above  their  heads  of  their  own  emanations. 
And  did  it  live  within  them  ?  did  there  dwell 
Fire  brought  from  heaven  in  forms  of  miry  clay, 
Untemper'd  as  the  slime  of  Babel's  builders, 
And  left  unfinish'd  like  their  monstrous  work  ? 
To  me,  alas  !   they  scem'd  but  living  bodies, 
With  still-born  souls  which  never  could  be  quickeu'J, 
Till  death  brought  immortality  to  light, 
And  from  the  darkness  of  their  earthly  prison 
Placed  them  at  once  before  the  bar  of  God; 
Then  first  to  learn,  at  their  eternal  peril, 
The  fact  of  his  existence  and  their  own. 
Imagination  durst  not  follow  them, 
Nor  stand  one  moment  at  that  dread  tribunal. 
"Shall  not  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?" 
I  trembled  while  I  spake.     I  could  not  bear 


1J6 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VII. 


The  doubt,  fear,  horror,  that  o'erhung  the  fate 
Of  millions,  millions,  millions, —  living,  dying, 
Without  a  hope  to  hang  a  hope  upon, 
That  of  the  whole  it  might  not  be  affirm'd, 

—  "'Twas  better  that  they  never  had  been  born." 
I  turn'd  away,  and  look'd  for  consolation, 

Where  Nature  else  had  shrunk  with  loathing  back, 

Or  imprecated  curses,  in  her  wrath, 

Even  on  the  fallen  creatures  of  my  race, 

O'er  whose  mysterious  doom  my  heart  was  breaking. 

I  saw  an  idiot  with  long  haggard  visage, 
And  eye  of  vacancy,  trolling  bis  tongue 
From  cheek  to  cheek ;  then  muttering  syllables 
Which  all  the  learn'd  on  earth  could  not  interpret  : 
Yet  were  they  sounds  of  gladness,  tunes  of  pleasure, 
Ineffable  tranquillity  expressing, 
Or  pure  and  buoyant  animal  delight: 
For  bright  the  sun  shone  round  him  ;  cool  the  breeze 
Play'd  in  the  floating  shadow  of  the  palm, 
Where  he  lay  rolling  in  voluptuous  sloth: 
And  he  had  fed  deliciously  on  fruit 
That  fell  into  bis  lap,  and  virgin  honey 
That  melted  from  the  hollow  of  the  rock 
Whither  the  hum  and  stir  of  bees  had  drawn  him. 
He  knew  no  bliss  beside,  save  sleep  when  weary, 
Or  reveries  like  this,  when,  broad  awake. 
Glimpses  of  though  tseem'd  flashing  through  his  brain, 
Like  wild-fires  flitting  o'er  the  rank  morass, 
Snares  to  the  night-bewilder'd  traveller ! 
Gently  he  raised  his  head,  and  peep'd  around, 
As  if  he  hoped  to  see  some  pleasant  object, 

—  The  wingless  squirrel  jet  from  tree  to  tree, 
■ — ■  The  monkey  pilfering  a  parrot's  nest ; 
But,  ere  he  bore  the  precious  spoil  away, 
Surprised  behind  by  beaks,  and  wings,  and  claws, 
That  made  him  scamper  gibbering  away  ; 

■ —  The  sly  opossum  dangle  by  her  tail, 

To  snap  the  silly  birds  that  perch'd  too  near; 

Or,  in  the  thicket,  with  her  young  at  play, 

Start  when  the  rustling  grass  announced  a  snake, 

And  secrete  them  within  her  second  womb, 

Then  stand  alert  to  give  the  intruder  battle, 

Who  rear'd  his  crest,  and  hiss'd,  and  glid  away  :  — 

—  These  with  the  transport  of  a  child  he  view'd, 
Then  laugh'd  aloud,  and  crack'd  his  fingers,  smote 
His  palms,   and  clasp'd  his   knees,  convulsed  with 

glee  ; 
A  sad,  sad  spectacle  of  merriment ! 
Yet  he  was  happy  ;  happy  in  this  life; 


And  could  I  doubt  that  death  to  him  would  bring 
Intelligence,  which  he  had  ne'er  abused, — 
A  soul,  which  he  had  never  lost  by  sin  ? 

I  saw  a  woman,  panting  from  her  throes, 
Stretch'd  in  a  lonely  cabin  on  the  ground, 
Pale  with  the  anguish  of  her  bitter  hour, 
Whose  sorrow  she  forgat  not  in  the  joy 
Which  mothers  feel  when  a  man-child  is  born : 
Hers  was  an  infant  of  her  own  scorn'd  sex  : 
It  lay  upon  her  breast ;  —  she  laid  it  there 
By  the  same  instinct  which  taught  it  to  find 
The  milky  fountain,  fill'd  to  meet  its  wants 
Even  at  the  gate  of  life, —  to  drink  and  live. 
Awhile  she  lay  all-passive  to  the  touch 
Of  those  small  fingers,  and  the  soft,  soft  lips 
Soliciting  the  sweet  nutrition  thence, 
While  yearning  sympathy  crept  round  her  heart : 
She  felt  her  spirit  yielding  to  the  charm 
That  wakes  the  parent  in  the  fellest  bosom, 
And  binds  her  to  her  little  one  for  ever, 
If  once  completed;  —  but  she  broke,  she  broke  it, 
For  she  was  brooding  o'er  her  sex's  wrongs, 
And  seem'd  to  lie  amidst  a  nest  of  scorpions, 
That  stung  remorse  to  frenzy  :  —  forth  she  sprang, 
And  with  collected  might  a  moment  stood, 
Mercy  and  misery  struggling  in  her  thoughts. 
Yet  both  impelling  her  to  one  dire  purpose. 
There  was  a  little  grave  already  made, 
But  two  spans  long,  in  the  turf-floor  beside  her, 
By  him  who  was  the  father  of  that  child  : 
Thence  he  had  sallied,  when  the  work  was  done, 
To  hunt,  to  fish,  or  ramble,  on  the  hills, 
Till  all  was  peace  again  within  that  dwelling. 
—  His  haunt,  his  den,  his  anything  hut  home  ! 
Peace?  —  no,  till  the  new-comer  were  despatch'd 
Whence  it  should  ne'er  return  to  break  the  stupor 
Of  unawaken'd  conscience  in  himself. 

She  pluck'd  the  baby  from  her  flowing  breast, 
And  o'er  its  mouth,  yet  moist  with  Nature's  beverage, 
Bound  a  thick  lotus-leaf  to  still  its  cries; 
Then  laid  it  down  in  that  untimely  grave 
As  tenderly  as  though  'twere  roek'd  to  sleep 
With  songs  of  love,  and  she  afraid  to  wake  it : 
Soon  as  she  felt  it  touch  the  ground  she  started, 
Hurried  the  damp  earth  over  it ;  then  fell 
Flat  on  the  heaving  heap,  and  crush'd  it  down 
With  the  whole  burden  of  her  grief:  exclaiming, 
"  0  that  mv  mother  had  done  so  to  me  !  " 


Canto  VIII. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


107 


Then  in  a  swoon  forgot  a  little  while 

Her  child,  her  Bex,  her  tyrant,  and  herself. 

Amazement  wither'd  up  all  human  feeling; 
I  wouder'd  how  I  could  look  on  so  calmly, 
As  though  I  were  but  animated  stone, 
And  not  kneel  down  upon  the  spot,  and  pray 
That  earth  might  open  to  devour  that  mother, 
Or  Heaven  shoot  lightning  to  avenge  that  daughter : 
But  horror  soon  gave  way  to  hope  and  pity, 

—  Hope  for  the  dead,  and  pity  for  the  living. 
Thenceforth  when  I  beheld  troops  of  wild  children 
Frolicking  around  the  tents  of  wickedness, 
Though  my  heart  danced  within  me  to  the  music 
Of  their  loud  voices  and  unruly  mirth, 

The  1  Jithe  exuberance  of  beginning  life! 
I  could  not  weep  when  they  went  out  like  sparks, 
That  glitter,  creep,  and  dwindle  out,  on  tinder. 
Happy,  thrice  happy,  were  they  thus  to  die, 
Ratht  r  than  grow  into  such  men  and  women, 

—  Such  fiends  incarnate  as  that  felon-sire, 
Who  dug  its  grave  before  his  child  was  born; 
Such  miserable  wretches  as  that  mother, 
Whose  tender  mercies  were  so  deadly  cruel ! 

I  saw  their  infant's  spirit  rise  to  Heaven, 
Caught  from  its  birth  up  to  the  throne  of  God  : 
There,  thousands  and  ten  thousands  I  beheld 
Of  innocents  like  this,  that  died  untimely, 
By  violence  of  their  unnatural  kin, 
Or  by  the  mercy  of  that  gracious  Power 
Who  gave  them  being,  taking  what  He  gave 
Ere  they  could  sin  or  suffer  like  their  parents. 
I  saw  them  in  white  raiment,  crown'd  with  flowers, 
On  the  fair  banks  of  that  resplendent  river 
Whose  streams  make  glad  the  city  of  our  God; 

—  Water  of  life,  as  clear  as  crystal,  welling 
Forth  from  the  throne  itself,  and  visiting 
FicM-;  of  a  Paradise  that  ne'er  was  lost; 
Where  still  the  tree  of  life  immortal  grows, 

And  bears  its  monthly  fruits,  twelve  kinds  of  fruit, 
Each  in  its  season,  food  of  saints  and  angels; 
Whose  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of  the  nations. 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  its  blessed  boughs, 
I  mark'd  those  rescued  infants,  in  their  schools, 
By  spirits  of  just  men  made  perfect,  taught 
The  glorious  lessons  of  Almighty  love, 
Which  brought  them  thither  by  the  readiest  path 
From  the  world's  wilderness  of  dire  temptations, 
ring  thus  their  everlasting  weal. 


Yea,  in  the  rapture  of  that  hour,  though  songs 
Of  cherubim  to  golden  lyres  and  trumpets, 
And  the  redeem'd  upon  the  sea  of  glass, 
With  voices  like  the  sound  of  many  waters, 
Came  on  mine  ear,  whose  secret  cells  were  open'd 
To  entertain  celestial  harmonies, 

—  The  small,  sweet  accents  of  those  little  children, 
Pouring  out  all  the  gladness  of  their  souls 

In  love  joy,  gratitude,  and  praise  to  Him, 

—  Him,  who   had   lov'd  and  wash'd   them   in  his 

blood, — 
These  were  to  me  the  most  transporting  strains 
Amidst  the  hallelujahs  of  all  Heaven. 
Though  lost  awhile  in  that  amazing  chorus 
Around  the  throne, —  at  happy  intervals, 
The  shrill  hosannas  of  the  infant-choir, 
Singing  in  that  eternal  temple,  brought 
Tears  to  mine  eye,  which  seraphs  had  been  glad 
To  weep,  could  they  have  felt  the  sympathy 
That  melted  all  my  soul  when  I  beheld 
How  condescending  Deity  thus  deigu'd 
Out  of  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings  here 
To  perfect  his  high  praise:  —  the  harp  of  Heaven 
Had  lack'd  its  least,  but  not  its  meanest,  string, 
Had  children  not  been  taught  to  play  upon  it, 
And  sing,  from  feelings  all  their  own,  what  men 
Nor  angels  can  conceive  of  creatures  born 
Under  the  curse,  yet  from  the  curse  redeem'd, 
And  placed  at  once  beyond  the  power  to  fall, 

—  Safety  which  men  nor  angels  ever  knew, 
Till  ranks  of  these  and  all  of  those  had  fallen. 


CANTO    EIGHTH. 

'Tivas  but  the  vision  of  an  eye-glance,  gone 

Ere  thought  could  fix  upon  it, —  gone  like  lightning 

At  midnight,  when  the  expansive  flash  reveals 

Alps,  Apennines,  and  Pyrenees  in  one 

Glorious  horizon,  suddenly  lit  up, — 

Hocks,  rivers,  forests, —  quench'd  as  suddenly: 

A  glimpse  that  fill'd  the  mind  with  images 

Which  years  cannot  obliterate,  but  stamp'd 

With  instantaneous  everlasting  force 

On  memory's  more  than  adamantine  tablet;  — 

A  glimpse  of  that  which  eye  hath  never  seen, 

Ear  heard,  nor  heart  of  man  conceived. —  It  pass'd, 

But  what  it  show'd  can  never  pass. —  It  pass'd, 

And  left  me  wandering  through  that  land  of  exile, 

Cut  off  from  intercourse  with  happier  lands; 


153 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  VIII. 


Abandon'd,  as  it  seem'd,  by  its  Creator; 

Unvisitcd  by  Him  who  came  from  Heaven 

To  seek  and  save  the  lost  of  every  clime; 

And  where  (ion,  looking  down  in  wrath,  had  said, 

"My  Spirit  shall  no  longer  strive  with  man:" 

—  So  ignorance  or  unbelief  might  deem. 

Was  it  thus  outlaw'd  ?  No  :  God  left  himself 
Not  without  witness  of  his  presence  there; 
He  gave  them  rain  from  Heaven  and  fruitful  seasons, 
Filling  unthankful  hearts  with  food  and  gladness. 
lie  gave  them  kind  affections,  which  they  strangled, 
Turning  his  grace  into  lasciviousness. 
He  gave  them  powers  of  intellect,  to  scale 
Heaven's  height;  to  name  and  number  all  the  stars  ; 
To  penetrate  earth's  depths  for  hidden  riches, 
Or  clothe  its  surface  with  fertility; 
Amidst  the  haunts  of  dragons,  dens  of  satyrs, 
To  call  up  hamlets,  villages,  and  towns, 
The  abode  of  peace  and  industry ;  to  build 
Cities  and  palaces  amid  waste  places; 
To  sound  the  ocean,  combat  with  the  winds, 
Travel  the  waves,  and  compass  every  shore, 
On  voyages  of  commerce  or  adventure; 
To  shine  in  civil  and  refining  arts; 
With  tranquil  science  elevate  the  soul; 
To  explore  the  universe  of  mind;  to  trace 
The  Nile  of  thinking  to  its  secret  source, 
And  thence  pursue  its  infinite  meanders, 
Not  lost  amidst  the  labyrinths  of  Time, 
But  o'er  the  cataract  of  death  down  rolling, 
To  flow  for  ever,  and  for  ever,  and  for  over, 
Where  time  nor  space  can  limit  its  expansion. 

He  gave  the  ideal,  too,  of  truth  and  beauty;  — 
To  look  on  Nature  with  a  poet's  eye, 
And  live,  amidst  the  daylight  of  this  world, 
In  regions  of  enchantment;  —  with  the  force 
Of  song,  as  with  a  spirit,  to  possess 
The  souls  of  those  that  hearken,  till  they  feel 
Cut  what  the  minstrel  feels,  and  do  but  that 
Which  his  strange  inspiration  makes  them  do  : 
Thus  with  his  breath  to  kindle  war,  and  bring 
The  array  of  battle  to  electric  issue  ; 
Or,  while  opposing  legions,  front  to  front, 
Wait  the  dread  signal  for  the  work  of  havoc, 
Step  in  between,  and  with  the  healing  voice 
Of  harmony  and  concord  win  them  SO, 
That,  hurling  down  their  weapons  of  destruction, 
They  rush  into  each  other's  anus,  with  shouts 


And  tears  of  transport ;  till  inveterate  foes 
Are  friends  and  brethren,  feasting  on  the  field 
Where  vultures  else  had  feasted,  and  gorged  wolves 
Howl'd  in  convulsive  slumber  o'er  their  corses. 

Such   powers  to  these  were  given,  but  given  in 
vain  ; 
They  knew  them  not,  or.  as  they  learn'd  to  know, 
Perverted  them  to  more  pernicious  evil 
Than  ignorance  had  skill  to  perpetrate. 
Yet  the  great  Father  gave  a  richer  portion 
To  these,  the  most  impoverish'd  of  his  children; 
He  sent  the  light  that  ligbtcth  every  man 
That  comes  into  the  world, —  the  light  of  truth: 
But  Satan  tum'd  that  light  to  darkness;   turn'd 
Sod's  truth  into  a  lie,  and  they  believed 
I/is  lie,  who  led  them  captive  at  his  will, 
Usurp'd  the  throne  of  Deity  on  earth, 
And  olaim'd  allegiance  in  all  hideous  forms, 

—  The  abominable  emblems  of  himself, 
The  legion-fiend,  who  takes  whatever  shape 
Man's  crazed  imagination  can  devise 

To  body  forth  his  notion  of  a  god, 
And  prove  how  low  immortal  minds  can  fall 
When  from  the  living  Gon  they  fall  to  serve 
Dumb    idols.     Thus    they   worshipp'd   stocks   and 

stones 
Which  hands  unapt  for  sculpture  executed, 
In  their  egregious  folly,  like  themselves, 
Though  not  more  like,  even  in  barbarian  eyes, 
Than  antic  clouds  resemble  animals. 
To  these  they  ofi'er'd  flowers  and  fruits;   to  those, 
Reptiles  ;  to  others,  birds,  and  beasts,  and  fishes : 
To  some  they  sacrificed  their  enemies, 
To  more  their  children,  and  themselves  to  all. 

So  had  the  god  of  this  apostate  world 
Blinded  their  eyes.     But  the  true  Gon  had  placed 
Yet  further  witness  of  his  grace  among  them, 
When  all  remembrance  of  himself  was  lost: 

—  Knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  right  and  wrong; 
But  knowledge  was  confounded,  till  they  call'd 
Good  evil,  evil  good;  refused  the  right, 

And  chose  and  loved  the  wrong  for  its  own  sake. 

One  witness  more,  his  own  ambassador 

On  earth,  the  Almighty  left  to  be  their  prophet, 

Whom  Satan  could  not  utterly  beguile, 

Nor  always  hold  with  bis  ten  thousand  fetters, 

Loek'd  in  the  dungeon  of  the  obdurate  breast, 

And  trampled  down  by  all  its  atheist,  inmates; 


Canto  VIII. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


159 


—  Conscience,  tremendous  conscience,  in  his  fits 
Of  inspiration, —  whencesoe'er  it  came, — 

Rose  like  a  ghost,  inflicting  fear  of  death 

On  those  who  fear'd  not  death  in  fiercest  battle, 

And  raoek'd  him  in  their  martyrdoms  of  torments  : 

That  secret,  swift,  and  silent  messenger 

Broke  on  them  in  their  lonely  hours, — in  sleep, 

In  sickness  :  haunting'  them  with  dire  suspicions 

Of  something  in  themselves  that  would  not  die, 

Of  an  existence  elsewhere,  and  hereafter, 

Of  which  tradition  was  not  wholly  silent, 

Yet  spake  not  out;  its  dreary  oracles 

Confounded  superstition  to  conceive, 

And  baffled  scepticism  to  reject: 

—  What  fear  of  death  is  like  the  fear  beyond  it? 

But  pangs  like  these  were  lucid  intervals 
In  the  delirium  of  the  life  thej-  led, 
And  all  unwelcome  as  returning  reason 
Which  through  the  chaos  of  a  maniac's  brain 
Shoots  gleams  of  light  more  terrible  than  darkness. 
These  sad  misgivings  of  the  smitten  heart, 
Wounded  unseen  by  conscience  from  its  ambush ; 
These  voices  from  eternity,  that  spake 
To  an  eternity  of  soul  within, — 
Were  quickly  lull'd  by  riotous  enjoyment, 
Or  lost  in  hurricanes  of  headlong  passion. 
They  knew  no  higher,  sought  no  happier,  state; 
Had  no  fine  instinct  of  superior  joys 
Than  those  of  sense;  no  taste  for  sense  refined 
Above  the  gross  necessities  of  nature, 
Or  outraged  Nature's  most  unnatural  cravings. 
Why  should  they  toil  to  make  the  earth  bring  forth, 
When  without  toil  she  gave  them  all  they  wanted? 
The  bread-fruit  ripen'd,  while  they  lay  beneath 
Its  shadow  in  luxurious  indolence  ; 
The  cocoa  fill'd  its  nuts  with  milk  and  kernels, 
While    they   were   sauntering   on   the    shores   and 

mountains  ; 
And  while  they  sluuiber'd,  from  their  heavy  meals, 
In  dead  forgetfulness  of  life  itself, 
The  fish  were  spawning  in  unsounded  depths, 
The  birds  were  breeding  in  adjacent  trees, 
The  game  was  fattening  in  delicious  pastures, 
Unplanted  roots  were  thriving  under  ground, 
To  spread  the  tables  of  their  future  banquets  ! 

Thus  what  the  sires  had  been,  the  sons  became; 
And  generations  rose,  continued,  went, 
Without  memorial, —  like  the  Pelicans 


On  that  lone  island,  where  they  built  their  nests, 

Nourish'd  their  young,  and  then  lay  down  to  die  : 

Hence,  through  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  years, 

Plan's  history  in  that  region  of  oblivion 

Might  be  recorded  in  a  page  as  small 

As  the  brief  legend  of  those  Pelicans, — 

With  one  appalling,  one  sublime  distinction, 

(Sublime  with  horror,  with  despair  appalling,) 

—  That  Pelicans  were  not  transgressors  ;  —  Man, 

Apostate  from  the  womb,  by  blood  a  traitor. 

Thus,  while  ho  rose  by  dignity  of  birth, 

He  sunk  in  guilt  and  infamy  below 

Creatures  whose  being  was  but  lent,  not  given, 

And,  when  the  debt  was  due,  reclaim'd  for  ever. 

0  enviable  lot  of  innocence ! 

Their  bliss  and  woe  were  only  of  this  world  : 

Whate'er  their  lives  had  been,  though  born  to  suffer 

Not  less  than  to  enjoy,  their  end  was  peace. 

Man  was  immortal,  yet  he  lived  and  died 

As  though  there  were  no  life  nor  death  but  this: 

Alas !  what  life  or  death  may  be  hereafter, 

He  only  knows  who  hath  ordain'd  them  both  ; 

And  they  shall  know  who  prove  their  truth  forever. 

The  thought  was  agony  beyond  endurance: 
"0  thou,  my  brother  Man  \"  again  I  cried, 
"Would  God  that  I  might  live,  might  die,  for  thee! 
0  could  I  take  a  form  to  meet  thine  eyes, 
Invent  a  voice  with  words  to  reach  thine  ears ; 
Or  if  my  spirit  might  converse  with  thine, 
And  pour  my  thoughts,  fears,  feelings,  through  thy 

breast, 
Unknown  to  thee  whence  came  the  strange  intrusion ! 
How  would  my  soul  rejoice,  rejoice  with  trembling, 
To  tell  thee  who  thou  art,  and  bring  thee  home, 
■ — Poor  prodigal,  here  watching  swine,  and  fain 
To  glut  thy  hunger  with  the  husks  they  feed  on, — 
Home  to  our  Father's  house,  our  Father's  heart! 
Both,  both  are  open  to  receive  thee, —  come  ; 
0  come  !  —  He  hears  not,  heeds  not :  0  my  brother  ! 
That  I  might  prophesy  to  thee, —  to  all 
The  millions  of  dry  bones  that  fill  this  valley 
Of  darkness  and  despair!  —  Alas!  alas! 
Can  these  bones  live  ?  Lord  God,  Thou  knowest. — 

Come 
From  the  four  winds  of  heaven,  almighty  breath  ! 
Blow  on  these  slain,  and  they  shall  live." 

T  spake ; 
And,  turning  from  the  mournful  contemplation, 


160 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  IX. 


To  seek  refreshment  for  my  weary  spirit, 

Amidst  that  peopled  continent,  the  abode 

Of  misery  which  reach'd  beyond  this  world, 

I  lighted  on  a  solitary  glen 

(A  peaceful  refuge  in  a  land  of  discord) 

CrownM  with    steep   rocks,  whose   hoary  summits 

;hone, 
Amid  the  blue  unclouded  element, 
O'er  the  green  woods,  that,  stretching  down  the  hills, 
Border'd  the  narrow  champaign  glade  between, 
Through  which  a  clear  and  pebbly  rill  meander'd. 
The  song-birds  caroll'd  in  the  leafy  shades, 
Those  of  resplendent  plumage  flaunted  round; 
High  o'er  the  cliffs  the  sea-fowl  soar'd  or  perch'd ; 
The  Pelican  and  Albatross  were  seen 
In  groups  reposing  on  the  northern  ridge : 
There  was  entire  serenity  above; 
Beauty,  tranquillity,  delight,  below ; 
And  every  motion,  sound,  and  sight,  were  pleasing 
Rhinoceros  nor  wild  bull  pastured  here ; 
Lion  nor  tiger  here  shed  innocent  blood ; 
The  antelopes  were  grazing  void  of  fear, 
Their  young  in  antic  gambols  ramping  by; 
While  goats  from  precipice  to  precipice 
Clamber'd,  or  hung,  or  vaulted  through  the  air. 
As  if  a  thought  convey'd  them  to  and  fro. 
Harmony  reign'd,  as  once  ere  man's  creation, 
When  brutes  were  yet  earth's  sole  inhabitants. 
There  were  no  human  tracks  nor  dwellings  there, 
For  "t  was  a  sanctuary  from  hurtful  creatures, 
And  in  the  precincts  of  that  happy  dell 
The  absence  of  my  species  was  a  mercy : 
Thence  the  declining  sun  withdrew  his  beams, 
But  left  it  lighted  by  a  hundred  peaks, 
Glittering  and  golden,  round  the  span  of  sky, 
That  seeuVd  the  sapphire  roof  of  one  great  temple, 
Whose  floor  was  emerald,  and  whose  walls  the  hills; 
Where  those  that  worshipp'd  God   might  worship 

Him 
In  spirit  and  in  truth,  without  distraction. 

Man's  absence  pleased  me ;  yet  on  man  alone, 
Man  fallen,  helpless,  miserable  man, 
My  thoughts,  prayers,  wishes,  tears,  and  sorrows 

turn'd, 
nowe'er  I  strove  to  drive  away  remembrance  : 
Then  I  refrain'd  no  longer,  but  brake  out, 
—  "Lord  God!   why  hast  Thou  made  all  men  in 
vain?" 


CANTO   NINTH. 

The  countenance  of  one  advanced  in  years, 
The  shape  of  one  created  to  command, 
The  step  of  one  accustom'd  to  be  seen, 
And  follow'd  with  the  reverence  of  all  eyes, 
Yet  conscious  here  of  utter  solitude, 
Came  on  me  like  an  apparition,— whence 
I  knew  not:— halfway  down  the  vale  already 
Had  he  proceeded  ere  I  caught  his  eye, 
And,  in  that  mirror  of  intelligence, 
By  the  sure  divination  of  mine  art, 
Read  the  mute  history  of  his  former  life, 
And  all  the  untold  secrets  of  his  bosom. 


He  was  a  chieftain  of  renown  ;  from  youth 
To  green  old  age,  the  glory  of  his  tribe, 
The  terror  of  their  enemies  :  in  war 
An  Alexander,  and  in  peace  an  Alfred, 
From  morn  till  night  he  wont  to  wield  the  spear 
With  indefatigable  arm,  or  watch 
From  eve  till  dawn  in  ambush  for  his  quarry, 
Human  or  brute ;  not  less  in  chase  than  fight, 
For  strength,  skill,  prowess,  enterprise,  unrivall'd, 
Fearless  he  grappled  with  the  fell  hya>na, 
And  held  him  strangling  in  the  grasp  of  fate; 
He  seized  the  she-bear's  whelps;  and  when  the  dam, 
With  miserable  cries  and  insane  rage, 
Pursued  to  rescue  them,  would  turn  and  strike 
One  blow,  but  one,  to  break  her  heart  for  ever: 
From  sling  and  bow  he  sent  upon  death-errands 
The  stone  or  arrow  through  the  trackless  air, 
i  To  overtake  the  fleetest  foot,  or  lay 
The  loftiest  pinion  fluttering  in  the  dust. 
On  the  rough  waves  he  eagerly  embark'd, 
Assail'd  the  stranded  whale  among  the  breakers, 
Dart  after  dart  with  such  sure  aim  implanting 
In  the  huge  carcass  of  the  helpless  victim, 
That  soon  in  blood  and  foam  the  monster  breathed 
His  last,  and  lay  a  hulk  upon  the  reef; 
Thence  floated  by  the  rising  tide,  and  tow'd 
By  a  whole  navy  of  canoes  ashore. 

But  'twas  the  hero's  mind  that  made  him  great: 
His  eye,  his  lip,  his  hand,  were  clothed  with  thunder; 
Thrones,  crowns,  and  sceptres  give  not   more   as- 

cendencc, 
Back'd  with  arm'd  legions,  fortified  with  towers, 
Than  this  imperial  savage,  all  alone, 


Can  i-i)  IX. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


163 


From  Nature's  pure  beneficence  derived. 

Yet,  when  the  hey-day  of  hot  youth  was  over, 

His  soul  grew  gentle  as  the  halcyon  breeze 

Sent  from  the  evening-sea  to  bless  the  shore 

After  the  fervours  of  a  tropic  noon  ; 

Nor  less  benign  his  influence  than  fresh  showers 

Upon  the  fainting  wilderness,  where  bands 

Of  pilgrims  bound  for  Mecca,  with  their  camels, 

Lie  down  to  die  together  in  despair, 

When  the  deceitful  mirage,  that  appear'd 

A  pool  of  water  trembling  in  the  sun, 

Hath  vanish'd  from  the  bloodshot  eye  of  thirst. 

Firm  in  defence  as  valiant  in  the  battle, 

Assailing  none,  but  all  assaults  repelling 

With  such  determined  chastisement,  that  foes 

No  longer  dared  to  forage  on  his  borders, 

War  shrunk  from  his  dominions  ;  simple  laws, 

Yet  wise  and  equitable,  he  ordain'd 

To  rule  a  willing  and  obedient  people. 

Blood  ceased  to  flow  in  sacrifice, — no  more 

The    parents'    hands    were    raised    against     their 

children, — 
Children  no  longer  slew  their  aged  parents, — 
Man  prey'd  not  on  his  fellow-man, —  within 
The  hallow'd  circle  of  his  patriarch-sway, 
That  seetn'd,  amidst  barbarian  clans  around, 
A  garden  in  a  waste  of  briar  and  hemlock. 

Ere  life's  meridian,  thus  that  chief  had  reach'd 
The  utmost  pinnacle  of  savage  grandeur, 
And  stood  the  envy  of  ignoble  eyes, 
The  awe  of  humbler  mortals,  the  example 
Of  youth's  sublime  ambition  :  but  to  him 
It  was  not  given  to  rest  at  any  height ; 
The  thoughts  that  travel  to  eternity 
Already  had  begun  their  pilgrimage, 
Which  time,  nor  change,  nor  life,  nor  death,  could 

stop. 
All  that  he  saw,  heard,  felt,  or  could  conceive, 
Open'd  new  scenes  of  mental  enterprise, 
Imposed  new  tasks  for  arduous  contemplation. 
On  the  steep  eminence  which  he  had  scaled, 
To  rise  or  fall  were  sole  alternatives  ; 
He  might  not  stand,  and  he  disdain'd  to  fall : 
Innate  magnificence  of  mind  upheld, 
And  buoyancy  of  genius  bore  him  on. 
Heaven,  earth,  and  ocean,  were  to  him  familiar 
In  all  their  motions,  aspects,  changes  ;  each 
To  him  paid  tribute  of  the  knowledge  hid 
From  uninquiring  ignorance  ;  to  him 
11 


Their  gradual  secrets,  though  with  slow  reserve, 
Yet  sure  accumulation,  all  reveal'd. 

But  whence  they  came,  even  more  than  what 
they  were, 
Awaken'd  wonder,  and  defied  conjecture: 
Blank  wonder  could  not  satisfy  his  soul, 
And  resolute  conjecture  would  not  yield, 
Though  foil'd  a  thousand  times,  in  speculation 
On  themes  that  open'd  immortality. 
The  gods  whom  bis  deluded  countrymen 
Acknowledged,  were  no  gods  to  him ;  he  scorn'd 
The  impotence  of  skill  that  carved  such  figures, 
And  pitied  the  fatuity  of  those 
Who  saw  not  in  the  abortions  of  their  hands 
The  abortions  of  their  minds. —  'Twas  the  Creator 
He  sought  through  every  volume  open  to  him, 
From  the  small  leaf  that  holds  an  insect's  web, 
From  which  ere  long  a  colony  shall  issue 
With  wings  and  limbs  as  perfect  as  the  eagle's, 
To  the  stupendous  ocean,  that  gives  birth 
And  nourishment  to  everlasting  millions 
Of  creatures,  great  and  small,  beyond  the  power 
Of  man  to  comprehend  how  they  exist. 
One  thought  amidst  the  multitude  within  him 
Press'd  with  perpetual,  with  increasing,  weight ; 
And  yet  the  elastic  soul  beneath  its  burden 
Wax'd  strong  and  stronger,  was  enlarged,  exalted, 
With  the  necessity  of  bearing  up 
Against  annihilation,— for  that  seem'd 
The  only  refuge  were  this  hope  foregone. 
It  was  as  though  he  wrestled  with  an  angel, 
And  would  not  let  him  go  without  a  blessing, 
If  not  extort  the  secret  of  his  name. 
This  was  that  thought,  that  hope  :  —  dumb  idols, 
And  the  vain  homage  of  their  worshippers, 
Were  proofs  to  him,  not  less  than  sun  and  stars, 
That  there  were  beings  mightier  far  than  man, 
Or  man  had  never  dream'd  of  aught  above  him. 
'Twas  clear  to  him  as  was  his  own  existence, 
In  which  he  felt  the  fact  personified, 
That  man  himself  was  for  this  world  too  mighty, 
Possessing  powers  which  could  not  ripen  here, 
But  ask'd  infinity  to  bring  them  forth, 
And  find  employ  for  their  unbounded  scope. 

Tradition  told  him  that,  in  ancient  time, 
Sky,  sun,  and  sea,  were  all  the  universe  : 
The  sun  grew  tired  of  gazing  on  the  sea 
Day  after  day;  then,  with  descending  beams, 


162 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Cant  i  IX. 


Day  after  day  he  pierced  the  dark  abyss 

Till  he  had  reach'd  its  diamantine  floor, — 

Whence  he  drew  up  an  island ;  as  a  tree 

Grows  in  the  desert  from  some  random  seed 

Dropi  by  a  wild  bird.     Grain  by  grain  it  rose, 

And  tOUCh'd  at  length  the  surface  ;  there  expandin 

Beneath  the  fostering  influence  of  his  eye. 

Prolific  seasons,  light,  and  showers,  and  dew, 

Aided  by  earthquakes,  hurricanes,  volcanos, 

(All  agents  of  the  universal  sun,) 

Conspired  to  form,  advance,  enrich,  and  break 

The  level  reef,  till  hills  and  dales  appear'd, 

And  the  small  isle  became  a  continent, 

Whose  bounds  his  ancestors  had  never  traced. 

Thither  in  time,  by  means  inscrutable, 

Plants,  animals,  and  man  himself,  were  brought; 

And  with  the  idolaters  the  gods  they  served. 

These  tales  tradition  told  him  :  he  believed. 

Though  all  were  fables,  yet  they  shadow'd  truth  : 

That  truth,  with  heart,  soul,  mind,  and  strength,  he 

0  'twas  a  spectacle  for  angels,  bound  [sought. 

On  embassies  of  mercy  to  this  earth, 

To  gaze  on  with  compassion  and  delight,— 

Yea,  with  desire  that  they  might  be  his  helpers,— 

To  see  a  dark  endungeon'd  spirit  roused, 

And  struggling  into  glorious  liberty, 

Though  Satan's  legions  watch'd  at  every  portal, 

And  held  him  by  ten  thousand  manacles ! 

Such  was  the  being  whom  I  here  descried, 
And  fix'd  my  earnest  expectation  on  him  ; 
For  now  or  never  might  my  hope  be  proved, 
How  near,  by  searching,  man  might  find  out  God. 

Thus,  while  he  walk'd  along  that  peaceful  valley, 
Though  rapt  in  meditation  far  above 
The  world  that  met  his  senses,  but  in  vain 
Would  charm  his  spirit  within  its  magic  circle, 
—  Still  with  benign  and  meek  simplicity 
He  hearken'd  to  the  prattle  of  a  babe, 
Which  he  was  leading  by  the  hand  ;  but  scarce 
Could  he  restrain  its  eagerness  to  break 
Loose,  and  run  wild  with  joy  among  the  bushes. 
It  was  his  grandson,  now  the  only  stay 
Of  his  bereaved  affections  ;  all  his  kin 
Had  fall'n  before  him.  and  his  youngest  daughter 
Bequeathed  this  infant  with  her  dying  lips  : 
'•  0  take  this  child,  my  father !  take  this  child, 
Ami  bring  it  up  for  me;  so  may  it  live 
To  be  the  latest  blessing  of  thy  life." 


He  took  the  child ;  he  brought  it  up  for  her  : 
It  was  the  latest  blessing  of  his  life  ; 
And  while  his  soul  explored  immensity, 
In  search  of  something  undefinedly  great, 
This  infant  was  the  link  which  bound  that  soul 
To  this  poor  world,  where  he  had  not  a  wish 
Or  hope,  beyond  the  moment,  for  himself. 

The  little  one  was  dancing  at  his  side, 
And  dragging  him  with  petty  violence 
Hither  and  thither  from  the  onward  path, 
To  find  a  bird's  nest  or  to  hunt  a  fly  : 
His  feign'd  resistance  and  unfeign'd  reluctance 
But  made  the  boy  more  resolute  to  rule 
The  grandsire  with  his  fond  caprice.     The  sage, 
Though  dallying  with  the  minion's  wayward  will, 
His  own  premeditated  course  pursued, 
And  while,  in  tones  of  sportive  tendern. 
He  answer'd  all  its  questions,  and  ask'd  others 
As  simple  as  its  own,  yet  wisely  framed 
To  wake  and  prove  an  infant's  faculties,— 
As  though  its  mind  were  some  sweet  instrument, 
And  he.  with  breath  and  touch,  were  finding  out 
What     stops     or    keys    would    yield    the    richest 
music, — 

All  this  was  by-play  to  the  scene  within 

The  busy  theatre  of  his  own  breast: 

Keen  and  absorbing  thoughts  were  working  there, 

And  his  heart  travail'd  with  unutter'd  pangs; 

Sigh  after  sigh,  escaping  to  bis  lips. 

Was  check'd  or  turn'd  into  some  lively  word, 

To  hide  the  bitter  conflict  from  his  child. 

At  length  they  struck  into  the  woods,  and  thence 
Climb'd  the  grey  rocks  aloof.     There  from  his  crag, 
At  their  abrupt  approach,  the  startled  eagle 
Took  wing  above  their  heads ;  the  boy,  alarm'd  — 
Nor  less  delighted  when  no  peril  came,— 
Follow'd  its  flight  with  eyes  and  hands  upraised,— 
And,  bounding  forward  on  the  verdant  si 
Watch'd  it  diminish,  till  a  gnat,  that  cross'd 
Hi.-  Bight,  eclipsed  it :  when  he  look'd  again 
'Twas  gone,  and  for  an  instant  he  felt  sad. 
Till  some  new  object  won  his  gay  attention. 
His  grandsire  stepp'd  to  take  the  eagle's  - 
And  gaze  at  freedom  on  the  boundless  prospect, 
But  started  bark,  and  held  his  breath  with  awe, 
So  (suddenly,  so  gloriously,  it  broke 
From  heaven,  earth,  sea.  and  air,  at  once  upon  him. 
The  tranquil  ocean  roll'd  beneath  his  feet ; 


Canto  IX. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


1G3 


The  shores  on  each  hand  lessen'd  from  the  view ; 
The  landscape  glow'd  with  tropical  luxuriance  ; 
The  sky  was  fleck'd  with  gold  and  crimson  clouds, 
That  seem'd  to  emanate  from  nothing  there, 
Born  in  the  blue  and  infinite  expanse, 
Where  just  before  the  eye  might  seek  in  vain 
An  evening  shadow  as  a  daylight  star. 

There  stood  the  patriarch  amidst  a  scene 
Of  splendour  and  beatitude,  himself 
A  diadem  of  glory  o'er  the  whole ; 
For  none  but  he  could  comprehend  the  beauty, 
The  bliss,  diffused  throughout  the  universe  : 
Yet  holier  beauty,  higher  bliss,  he  sought, 
Of  which  that  universe  was  but  the  veil, 
Wrought  with  inexplicable  hieroglyphics. 
Here  then  he  stood,  alone,  but  not  forsaken 
Of  Him  without  whose  leave  a  sparrow  falls  not. 
Wide  open  lay  the  Book  of  Deity ; 
The  page  was  Providence  :  but  none,  alas ! 
Had  taught  him  letters :  when  he  look'd,  he  wept 
To  feel  himself  forbidden  to  peruse  it. 
— "0  for  a  messenger  of  mercy  now, 
Like  Philip  when  he  join'd  the  Eunuch's  chariot ! 
0  for  the  privilege  to  burst  upon  him, 
And  show  the  blind,  the  dead,  the  light  of  life!" 

I  hush'd  the  exclamation,  for  he  seem'd 
To  hear  it;  turn'd  his  head,  and  look'd  all  round, 
As  if  an  eye  invisible  beheld  him, 
A  voice  had  spoken  out  of  solitude : 
— Yea,  such  an  eye  beheld  him,  such  a  voice 
Had  spoken  ;  but  they  were  not  mine  :  his  life 
He  would  have  yielded  on  the  spot  to  see 
That  eye,  to  hear  that  voice,  and  understand  it: 
It  was  the  eye  of  God,  the  voice  of  Nature. 
All  in  a  moment  on  his  knees  he  fell; 
And,  with  imploring  arms  outstretch'd  to  Heaven, 
And  eyes  no  longer  wet  with  hopeless  tears, 
But  beaming  forth  sublime  intelligence, 
In    words    through    which    his    heart's    pulsation 

throhb'd, 
And  made  mine  tremble  to  their  accents,  pray'd : 
— "Oh !  if  there  be  a  Power  above  all  power, 
A  Light  above  all  light,  a  Name  above 
All  other  names,  in  Heaven  and  earth  ;  that  Power, 
That  Light,  that  Name,  I  call  upon  !" — He  paused, 
Bow'd  his  hoar  head  with  reverence,  closed  his  eyes, 
And,  with  clasp'd  hands  upon  his  breast,  began 
In  under  tones,  that  rose  in  fervency, 


Like  incense  kindled  on  a  holy  altar, 
Till  his  whole  soul  became  one  tongue  of  fire, 
Of  which  these  words  were  faint  and  poor  expres- 
sions : 
— "Oh  !  if  Thou  art,  Thou  knowest  that  I  am  : 
Behold  me,  hear  me,  pity  me,  despise  not 
The   prayer  which  —  if  Thou   art  —  Thou  hast  in- 
spired, 
Or  wherefore  seek  I  now  a  God  unknown  ? 
And  feel  for  Thee,  if  haply  I  may  find 
In  whom  I  live,  and  move,  and  have  my  being? 
Beveal  Thyself  to  me ;  reveal  thy  power, 
Thy  light,  thy  name, — that  I  may  fear,  adore, 
Obey, —  and,  oh  !  that  I  might  love  Thee  too  ! 
For,  if  Thou  art  —  it  must  be  —  Thou  art  good  ; 
And  I  would  be  the  creature  of  thy  goodness  : 
Oh  !  hear  and  answer:  —  let  me  know  Thou  hearest! 
—  Know  that,  as  surely  as  Thou  art,  so  surely 
My  prayer  and  supplication  are  accepted!" 

He  waited  silently ;  there  came  no  answer : 
The  roaring  of  the  tide  beneath,  the  gale 
Rustling  the  forest-leaves,  the  notes  of  birds, 
And  hum  of  insects, —  these  were  all  the  sounds 
That  met  familiarly  around  his  ear. 
He  look'd  abroad :  there  shone  no  light  from  heaven 
But  that  of  sunset ;  and  no  shapes  appear'd 
But  glistering  clouds,  which  melted  through  the  sky 
As  imperceptibly  as  they  had  come  ; 
While  all  terrestrial  objects  seem'd  the  same 
As  he  had  ever  known  them;  —  still  he  look'd 
And  listen'd,  till  a  cold  sick  feeling  sunk 
Into  his  heart,  and  blighted  every  hope. 

Anon  faint  accents,  from  the  sloping  lawn 
Beneath  the  crag  where  he  was  kneeling,  rose 
Like  supernatural  echoes  of  his  prayer: 
— -"A  Name  above  all  names  —  I  call  upon. — 
Thou  art  —  Thou  knowest  that  I  am  :  —  Reveal 
Thyself  to  me  ;  —  but,  oh  !  that  I  may  love  Thee  ! 
For  if  Thou  art,  Thou  must  be  good  :  —  Oh  !  hear, 
And  let  me  know  Thou  hearest!" — Memory  fail'd 
The    child;    for  'twas   his    grandchild,  though    he 

knew  not, — 
In  the  deep  transport  of  his  mind,  he  knew  not 
That  voice,  to  him  the  sweetest  of  ten  thousand, 
And  known  the  best  because  the  best  beloved. 
Again  it  cried:  — "Thou  art — Thou  must  be  good: 

—  Oh!  hear, 
And  let  me  know  Thou  hearest." — Memory  fail'd 


104 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


Canto  IX. 


The  child;  but  feeling  fail'd  not:  tears  of  light 
Slid  down  his  cheek ;  he  too  was  on  his  knees, 
Clasping  his  little  hands  upon  his  heart, 
Unconscious  why,  yet  doing  what  he  saw 
His  grandsire  do,  and  saying  what  he  said. 
For  while  he  gather'd  buds  and  flowers  to  twine 
A  garland  for  the  old  gray  hairs,  whose  locks 
Were  lovelier  in  his  sight  than  all  the  blooms 
On  which  the  bees  and  butterflies  were  feasting, 
The  Patriarch's  agony  of  spirit  caught 
His  eye,  his  ear,  his  heart ;  he  dropp'd  the  flowers, 
And,  kneeling  down  among  them,  wept  and  pray'd 
Like  him,  with  whom  he  felt  such  strange  emotions 
As  rapt  his  infant-soul  to  heavenly  heights ; 
Though  whence  they  sprang,  and  what  they  meant, 

he  knew  not : 
But  they  were  good,  and  that  was  all  to  him, 
Who  wonder'd  why  it  was  so  sweet  to  weep; 
Nor  would  he  quit  his  bumble  attitude, 
Nor  cease  repeating  fragments  of  that  lesson, 
Thus  learnt  spontaneously  from  lips  whose  words 
Were  almost  dearer  to  him  than  their  kisses, 
When  on  his  lap  the  old  man  dandled  him, 
And  told  him  simple  stories  of  bis  mother. 

Recovering  thought,  the  venerable  sire 
Beheld,  and  recognised,  his  darling  boy, 
Thus  beautiful  and  innocent,  engaged 
In  the  same  worship  with  himself.     His  heart 
Leap'd  at  the  sight :  he  flung  away  despondence, 
While  joy  unspeakable  and  full  of  glory 
Broke  through  the  pagan  darkness  of  his  soul. 
He  ran  and  snateh'd  the  infant  in  his  arms, 
Embraced  him  passionately,  wept  aloud, 
And    cried,  scarce  knowing  what  he   said,  —  "My 

son ! 
My  son  !  there  is  a  God  !  there  is  a  God  !" — 
"And,  oh  !  that  I  may  love  Thee  too  !"  rejoin'd 
The  child,  whose  tongue  could  find  no  other  words 
Than  prayer;  —  "for  if  Thou    art,  Thou   must  be 

good."— 
"He  is  !  He  is  !  and  we  will  love  Him  too  ! 
Yea,  and  be  like  Him,- — good,  for  He  is  good  !" 
Replied  the  ancient  father  in  amazement. 

Then  wept  they  o'er  each  other,  till  the  child 
Exceeded,  and  the  old  man's  heart  reproved  him 
For  lack  of  reverence  in  the  excess  of  joy : 
The  ground  itself  seem'd  holy !  heaven  and  earth 
Full  of  the  presence  —  felt,  not  seen  —  of  Him, 


The  Power  above  all  power,  the  Light  above 

All  light,  the  Name  above  all  other  names; 

Whom  he  had  call'd  upon,  whom  he  bad  found, 

Yet  worshipp'd  only  as  "the  Unknown  God," — 

That  nearest  step  which  uuinstructed  man 

Can  take  from  Nature  up  to  Deity. 

To  Him  again,  standing  erect,  he  pray'd; 

And,  while  be  pray'd,  high  in  his  arms  he  held 

That  dearest  treasure  of  his  heart,  the  child 

Of  his  last  dying  daughter, —  now  the  sole 

Hope  of  his  life,  and  orphan  of  his  house. 

He  held  him  as  an  offering  up  to  Heaven, 

A  living  sacrifice  unto  the  God 

Whom   he   invoked: — "Oh!    Thou  who    art!"  he 

cried, 
"And  hast  reveal'd  that  mystery  to  me, 
Hid  from  all  generations  of  my  fathers, 
Or,  if  once  known,  forgotten  and  perverted; 
I  may  not  live  to  learn  Thee  better  here; 
But,  oh  !  let  this  my  son,  mine  only  son, 
Whom  thus  I  dedicate  to  Thee; — let  him, 
Let  him  be  taught  thy  will,  and  choose 
Obedience  to  it;  —  may  he  fear  thy  power, 
Walk  in  thy  light,  now  dawning  out  of  darkness; 
And,  oh!  —  my  last,  last  prayer, —  to  him  reveal 
The  unutterable  secret  of  thy  Name  !" 
He  paused;  then,  with  the  transport  of  a  seer, 
Went    on: — "That    Name    may    all    my    nation 

know  ; 
And  all  that  bear  it  worship  at  the  sound, 
When  thou  shalt  with  a  voice  from  heaven  proclaim 

it! 
And  so  it  surely  shall  be." — 

"For  Thou  art; 
And  if  Thou  art,  Thou  must  be  good!"  exclaim'd 
The  child,  yet  panting  with  the  breath  of  prayer. 

They   ceased ;    then    went    rejoicing    down    the 

mountains, 
Through  the   cool   glen,  where-   not  a  sound  was 

heard, 
Amidst  the  dark  solemnity  of  eve, 
But  the  loud  purling  of  the  little  brook, 
And  the  low  murmur  of  the  distant  ocean. 
Thence  to  their  home  beyond  the  hills  in  peace 
They  walk'd  ;  and,  when  they  reach'd  their  humble 

threshold, 
The  glittering  firmament  was  full  of  stars. 
—  He  died  that  night;  bis  grandchild  lived  to  see 
The  Patriarch's  prayer  and  prophecy  fulfill'd. 


Caxto  IX. 


THE  PELICAN  ISLAND. 


1(55 


Here  end  my  song;  here  ended  not  the  vision: 
I  heard  seven  thunders  uttering  their  voices, 
And  wrote  what  they  did  utter;  but  'tis  seal'd 
Within  the  volume  of  my  heart,  where  thoughts, 
Unbodied  yet  in  voeal  words,  await 
The  quickening  warmth  of  poesy  to  bring 
Their  forms  to  light, — like  secret  characters, 
Invisible  till  open'd  to  the  fire ; 
Or  like  the  potter's  paintings,  colourless 
Till  they  have  pass'd  to  glory  through  the  flames 
Changes  more  wonderful  than  those  gone  by, 
More  beautiful,  transporting,  and  sublime, 
To  all  the  frail  affections  of  our  nature, 
To  all  the  immortal  faculties  of  man : 
.Such  changes  did  I  witness ;  not  alone 
In  one  poor  Pelican  Island,  nor  on  one 
Barbarian  continent,  where  man  himself 
Could  scarcely  soar  above  the  Pelican  : 
—  The  world  as  it  hath  been  in  ages  past, 
The  world  as  now  it  is,  the  world  to  come, 
Far  as  the  eye  of  prophecy  can  pierce ;  — 
These  I  beheld,  and  still  in  memory's  rolls 
They  have  their  pages  and  their  pictures:  these, 
Another  day,  a  nobler  song  may  show. 

Vain  boast !  another  day  may  not  be  given  ; 
This  song  may  be  my  last;  for  I  have  reach'd 
That  slippery  descent,  whence  man  looks  back 
With  melancholy  joy  on  all  he  cherish'd, 
Around  with  love  unfeign'd  on  all  he's  losing, 
Forward  with  hope  that  trembles  while  it  turns 
To  the  dim  point  where  all  our  knowledge  ends. 
I  am  but  one  among  the  living;  one 
Among  the  dead  I  soon  shall  be,  and  one 
Among  unnumber'd  millions  yet  unborn  ; 


The  sum  of  Adam's  mortal  progeny, 
From  Nature's  birthday  to  her  dissolution  : 

—  Lost  in  infinitude,  my  atom-life 
Seems  but  a  sparkle  of  the  smallest  star 
Amidst  the  scintillations  of  ten  thousand, 
Twinkling  incessantly;  no  ray  returning 
To  shine  a  second  moment  where  it  shone 
Once,  and  no  more  for  ever :  —  sol  pass. 

The  world  grows  darker,  lonelier,  and  more  silent, 

As  I  go  down  into  the  vale  of  years; 

For  the  grave's  shadows  lengthen  in  advance, 

And  the  grave's  loneliness  appals  my  spirit, 

And  the  grave's  silence  sinks  into  my  heart, 

Till  I  forget  existence  in  the  thought 

Of  non-existence,  buried  for  a  while 

In  the  still  sepulchre  of  my  own  mind, 

Itself  imperishable  :  —  ah  !  that  word, 

Like  the  archangel's  trumpet,  wakes  me  up 

To  deathless  resurrection.     Heaven  and  earth 

Shall  pass   away, —  but   that  which    thinks  within 

me, 
Must  think  for  ever  ;  that  which  feels,  must  feel : 
■ —  I  am,  and  I  can  never  cease  to  be. 

0  thou  that  readest!  take  this  parable 
Home  to  thy  bosom  ;  think  as  I  have  thought, 
And  feel  as  I  have  felt,  through  all  the  changes 
Which  Time,  Life,  Death,  the  world's  great  actors, 

wrought, 
While  centuries  swept  like  morning  dreams  before 

me, 
And  thou  shalt  find  this  moral  to  my  song : 

—  Thou  art,  and  thou  canst  never  cease  to  be  : 
What  then  are  time,  life,  death,  the  world  to  thee? 
I  may  not  answer ;  ask  Eternity. 


166 


P  11 1  B  0  X    A  M  0  S  E  M  E  N  T  S . 


PRISON  amusements: 


WRITTEN    DURING    NINE    3I0NTUS    OK    CONFINEMENT    IN    THE    CASTLE    OF    YORK, 
IN    THK    VEAIIS    17(.».')    AND    1706. 


INTRODUCTION. 

It  has  been  mentioned  already,  in  the  General 
Preface  to  this  Edition  of  my  Poems,  that  the  first 
number  of  the  Iris  (succeeding  to  the  Sheffield 
Iteijlster)  was  published  by  myself,  and  a  friend 
whose  name  did  not  appear,  on  the  4th  of  July,  17'.' -I. 
He,  however,  soon  becoming  weary  of  the  vexation, 
and  alarmed  by  the  peril  to  which  we  wire  exposed 
in  the  conduct  of  an  independent  journal,  at  the 
end  of  the  first  year  retired  from  the  conflict,  leaving 
me  in  possession  of  a  field,  every  inch  of  which  was 
to  be  maintained  either  by  inflexibly  passive  resist- 
ance, or  by  alternate  aggression  and  defence,  against 
numerous  adversaries  banded  against  my  predeces- 
sor, and  whose  disappointed  vengeance  fell  upon 
me, —  more  from  the  misfortune  of  having  stepped 
into  his  place  when  he  left  the  kingdom,  than  for 
any  offences  that  I  had  committed,  or  any  personal 
spleen  against  myself.  But  I  was  singled  out,  a> 
will  appear  in  the  sequel,  not  only  as  an  object  of 
suspicion  from  the  situation  which  I  occupied,  but  I 
was  watched  at  every  step  of  my  progress  as  a  proper 
object  for  persecution  when  a  feasible  pretext  could 
be  found, —  an  example  being  wanted  to  deter  others 
from  doing  what  /had  not  yet  done,  but  what  they 
were  doing  with  impunity,  because  they  were  cither 
above  or  below  the  mark  of  legal  visitation.  How 
this  was  effected  I  will  now  tell. 

Little  more  than  a  month  after  I  had  become 
connected  with  the  newspaper,  I  was  one  day  called 
into  the  bookseller's  shop,  where  business-orders 
were  received.  There  I  found  a  poor-looking 
elderly  man,  whom  I  recollected  to  have  seen  in  the 
street  a  little  while  before;  when  I  was  attracted 
both  by  his  grotesque  appearance,  and  his  comical 
address  as  a  ballad-monger.  He  stood  with  a  bundle 
of  pamphlets  in  his  hand,  crying  out  in  a  peculiar 
tone,  "Here  you  have  twelve  songs  for  a  penny  !" 
Then  he  recapitulated  at  full  length  the  title  of  each. 


thus  :  "  The  first  song  in  the  book  is  " — so  and  so  ; 
"  The  second  song  in  the  book  " — so  and  so :  "  The 
third  song" — so  and  so;  and  on  he  went,  "so  and 
so,"  to  the  end  of  the  catalogue,  lie  now  offered 
nie  the  specimen  of  an  article  in  his  line,  and  asked 
what  he  must  pay  for  six  quires  of  the  same.  1  im- 
mediately replied  that  I  did  not  deal  in  such  com- 
modities, having  better  employment  for  my  pre 
he  must  therefore  apply  elsewhere  (I  believe  I 
named  a  place  where  he  might  be  served).  "But," 
be  rejoined,  like  one  who  had  some  knowledge  of 
the  terms  used  by  printers,  "you  have  this  standing 
in  your  office." — "  That  is  more  thau  I  know,"  was 
my  answer.  Taking  up  the  printed  leaf,  I  perceived 
that  it  contained  two  copies  of  verses,  with  each  of 
which  I  had  been  long  familiar,  but  bad  never  seen 
them  coupled  in  that  shape  before.  At  the  top  of 
the  page  was  the  impression  of  a  wood-cut  (Liberty 
and  the  British  Lion),  which  I  recognised  as  having 
figured  in  the  frontispiece  of  an  extinct  periodical, 
issued  by  my  predecessor,  and  entitled  "  The  Pa- 
triot." The  paper,  also,  of  which  a  large  stock  had 
devolved  to  me,  was  of  a  particular  kind,  being  the 
material  of  certain  forms  for  the  registration  of  free- 
holds, under  a  still-born  act  of  parliament,  printed 
on  one  side  only,  and  which  had  been  sold  for  waste. 
•  In  discovering  this,  I  went  up  into  the  office,  and 
asked  when  and  for  whom  such  things  as  I  held  in 
my  hand  bad  been  printed,  as  I  had  no  knowledge 
of  the  job.  "Oh,  sir,"  said  the  foreman,  "they 
were  set  up  ever  so  long  ago  by  Jack,"  (Mr.  Galea's. 
apprentice,  who  had  not  been  transferred  to  me,)  "  for 
himself,  and  to  give  away  to  his  companions;  and 
the  matter  is  now  standing  in  the  types  just  as  it 
was  when  you  bought  the  stock  in  the  office." — 
"  Indeed,"  I  exclaimed  ;  "  but  how  came  the  ballad- 
seller,  who  was  bawling  out  his  twelve  songs  for  a 
penny  the  other  day,  to  have  a  copy!'" — In  explan- 
ation of  this  he  stated,  that  he  had  formerly  known 
him  when  ho  himself  was  an  apprentice  in  an  office 


PUIS  0  N    A  .M  U  S  E  M  E  X  T  S . 


16V 


at  Derby,  from  which  such  wares  were  supplied  to 
hawkers.  Hearing  his  voice  in  the  street,  he  had 
called  him  in  for  old-acquaintance  sake,  and,  in  the 
course  of  talking  about  trade,  had  shown  him  an  im- 
pression of  Jack's  songs,  by  which  he  thought  his  old 
acquaintance  might  make  a  few  pence  in  his  strange 
way.  "Well,  then,"  said  I,  "let  the  poor  fellow- 
have  what  he  wants,  if  it  will  do  him  any  good:  but 
what  docs  he  mean  by  six  quires  t " — "  Xot  quires 
of  whole  sheets,  but  six  times  twenty-four  copies  of 
this  size,"  was  the  information  which  I  received  on 
this  new  branch  of  literature.  I  then  went  down 
stairs,  and  told  my  customer  that  he  might  have  the 
quantity  he  wanted  for  eighteen-pence,  which  would 
barely  be  the  expense  of  the  paper  and  working  off. 
He  was  content;  the  order  was  executed;  the  parcel 
delivered  by  myself  into  his  hand,  and  honestly  paid 
for  by  him  ;  away  then  he  went,  and  I  saw  no  more 
of  him.  I  have  often  said,  when  I  have  had  occasion 
to  tell  this  adventure  of  my  romantic  youth,  (for 
adventure  it  was,  and  no  every-day  one,  as  the  issue 
proved,)  that  if  ever  in  my  life  I  did  an  act  which 
was  neither  good  nor  bad,  or,  if  either,  rather  good 
titan  bad,  it  was  this.  I  repeat  the  statement  here, 
as  the  only  feeling  of  my  mind  at  the  time,  and  as 
the  conviction  of  my  mind  at  this  hour. 

Two  mouths  afterwards,  one  of  the  town-constables 
waited  upon  me,  and  very  civilly  requested  that  1 
would  call  upon  him  at  his  residence  in  the  adjacent 
street.  Accordingly  I  went  thither,  and  asked  him 
for  what  purpose  he  wanted  to  see  me.  He  then 
produced  a  magistrate's  warrant,  charging  me  with 
having,  on  the  16th  day  of  August  preceding,  printed 
and  published  a  certain  seditious  libel  respecting  the 
war  then  waging  between  his  Majesty  and  the 
French  government,  entitled  .1  Patriotic  Sung  by  a 
Clergyman  of  Belfast.  I  was  quite  puzzled  to  com- 
prehend to  what  production  from  my  press  the 
charge  alluded,  not  the  remotest  idea  of  the  ballad- 
seller  occurring  to  me  at  the  moment.  Accordingly 
I  expressed  my  ignorance,  and  begged  to  see  the 
paper  that  contained  the  libel.  He  then  showed 
me  a  copy  of  the  songs  which  I  had  allowed  to  be 
printed,  as  aforementioned,  at  the  request  of  a 
hawker  whom  I  had  never  seen  before  nor  since.  I 
said  immediately,  "  I  recollect  that  very  well ;  but 
this  song  cannot  be  a  libel  on  the  present  war,  be- 
cause it  was  published,  to  my  knowledge,  long  be- 
fore hostilities  between  England  and  France  began 
in  1793,  having  been  composed  for  an  anniversary 


celebration  of  the  destruction  of  the  Bastile,  and 
referring  solely  to  the  invasion  of  France  by  the 
Austrian  and  Prussian  armies  under  the  Duke  of 
Brunswick,  in  July,  1792."  That,  however,  was  a 
question  not  to  be  settled  between  the  constable 
and  me.  The  former,  on  further  inquiry,  told  me 
that  on  the  16th  of  August,  as  he  was  going  down 
the  High  Street,  he  observed  the  aforesaid  ballad- 
monger,  and  heard  him  crying,  "Straws  to  sell!" 
As  it  was  his  business  to  look  after  vagrants,  he 
went  up  to  the  man  and  bought  a  straw  of  him,  for 
which  he  paid  a  halfpenny  ;  but  complaining  that  it 
was  a  dear  bargain,  the  other  gave  him  one  of  these 
songs  to  boot.  On  looking  at  the  contents,  he 
thought  there  was  something  not  right  about  them 
or  the  manner  of  their  disposal.  Hereupon  he 
told  the  chapman  that  he  would  be  a  wholesale 
customer,  and  take  both  himself  and  his  stock  into 
safe-keeping.  The  prisoner,  terrified  at  the  thought 
of  going  to  gaol,  immediately  informed  him  how, 
where,  and  from  whom  he  had  got  the  papers.  He 
then  took  him  before  a  magistrate,  who,  on  hearing 
the  case,  committed  the  culprit  to  Wakefield  House 
of  Correction  as  a  vagrant,  where  he  had  been  de- 
tained till  the  West  Riding  Sessions,  on  the  Kith  of 
October — the  day  on  which  it  had  been  deemed 
expedient  to  arrest  me  as  the  principal  in  the  affair. 
All  this  was  news  to  me,  and  quite  as  unwelcome  as 
it  was  amusing  and  instructive.  The  trick  of  selling 
a  straw,  and  giving  something  not  worth  one  with 
it,  was  a  lesson  which,  having  never  learned  before, 
certainly  reduced  to  the  amount  of  its  value  the 
vast  stock  of  ignorance  of  the  world  with  which  1 
had  set  out  in  it;  which,  however,  was  otherwise  so 
rapidly  diminishing  by  my  daily  experience,  that  I 
had  a  fair  prospect  of  becoming,  within  a  reasonable 
time,  as  wise  in  my  generation  as  the  people  with 
whom  I  had  to  deal  then  and  in  the  sequel. 

At  the  Sheffield  Sessions  then  being  holden,  1 
was  forthwith  arraigned,  pleaded  "  Xot  guilty,"  and 
traversed  the  indictment  to  Doncaster  Sessions,  to 
be  held  in  January  1796.  Bail  to  the  amount  of 
200/.  from  myself,  and  two  sureties  of  100/.  each, 
being  demanded,  though  I  came  into  court  unpre- 
pared to  name  the  latter,  two  respectable  townsmen, 
with  neither  of  whom  had  I  any  acquaintance 
beyond  civil  recognition  when  we  happened  to  meet, 
voluntarily  stepped  forward  to  my  assistance,  and 
were  accepted.  Joseph  Jordan  (for  that  was  the 
song-seller's   name)    was   then   remanded    (with    a 


loS 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


recommendation  from  the  Bench  to  be  kindly 
treated)  to  Wakefield,  and  kept  there  three  months 
longer,  that  he  might  be  forthcoming  as  a  witness 
against  me  when  the  trial  should  tako  place. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  the  song  from  which 
the  libel  was  inferred.  The  other  verses  on  the 
same  paper,  entitled  The  Tender's  Hold,  complain- 
ing of  the  wrongs  of  seamen  from  impressment,  I 
believe  were  the  elder  Dibdin's. 

"A    PATRIOTIC    SONG    BY    A    CLERGYMAN    OF 
BELFAST. 

"While  Tyranny  marshals  its  minions  around, 

And  bids  its  fierce  legions  advance, 
Fair  Freedom  !  the  hopes  of  thy  sons  to  confound, 

And  restore  his  old  empire  in  France, — 

"What   friend  among  men   to  the  rights  of  man- 
kind 

But  is  fired  with  resentment  to  see 
The  satraps  of  pride  and  oppression  combined, 

To  prevent  a  great  land  being  free  ? 

"  Europe' 8  fate  on  the  contest's  decision  depends; 

Jfost  important  its  issue  will  be  ; 
For   should   France    be   subdued,    Europe's    liberty 
ends  ; 

If  she  triumphs,  the  world  will  be  free. 

"  Then  let  every  true  patriot  unite  in  her  cause, 

A  cause  of  such  moment  to  man  : 
Let  all  whose  souls  spurn  at  tyrannical  laws, 

Lend  her  all  the  assistance  they  can. 

"  May  the  spirit  of  Sparta  her  armies  inspire, 

And  the  star  of  America  guide; 
May  a  Washington's  wisdom,  a  Mirabeau's  fire, 

In  her  camps  and  her  councils  preside ! 

"May  her  sons'  fatal  discord  no  longer  divide; 

'Mongst  ber  chiefs  no  dark  traitors  be  found; 
But  may  they  united  resist  the  rough  tide, 

Till  their  toils  be  with  victory  crowu'd  ! 

"And  at  length  when  sweet  Peace  from  her  sphere 
shall  descend, 

When  the  friends  of  oppression  have  fled, 
Immortal  renown  shall  those  heroes  attend 

Who  for  freedom  fought,  conquer'd,  and  bled. 


"Blazon'd  high  then  their  deeds  shall  swell  history's 
page, 

And  adorn  lofty  poetry's  lays; 
While  the  memory  of  tyrants,  the  curse  of  their  age, 

In  oblivion's  dark  Bastile  decays." 

These  stanzas  appeared  in  the  Sheffield  Register 
dated  Friday,  August  3,  1T92,  and  were  thus  intro- 
duced :  — 

"  The  following  song  was  composed  by  Mr.  Scott 
of  Dromore,  and  presented  in  his  name  to  the  pre- 
sident of  the  citizens  of  Belfast,  and  the  citizen 
soldiers  of  the  town  and  neighbourhood,  at  their 
commemoration  of  the  demolition  of  the  Ba.-tile 
(July  14, 178'J),  the  birthday  of  Liberty  in  France." 

In  the  edition  printed  at  my  office,  they  are  enti- 
tled as  above  quoted,  "A  Song  by  a  Clergyman  of 
Belfast."  Copies  of  both  are  before  me  at  this  time. 
The  chronology  of  the  composition  is  incontro- 
vertible ;  the  fact  of  its  having  made  the  round  of 
the  "patriotic  "newspapers  in  July  and  August,  1792, 
settles  that.  The  original  allusions  in  it,  therefore, 
had  no  more  reference  to  a  non-existent  war  between 
France  and  England  than  to  a  non-existent  war 
between  China  and  Japan.  They  were  wholly  and 
unequivocally  directed  against  the  Austrians  and 
Prussians,  then  marshalling  their  armies  to  invade 
revolutionised  France,  and  compel  her  to  restore  the 
captive  king  to  his  ancient  sovereignty.  In  this 
sense  they  were  universally  understood;  and  in  no 
.other  were  they  intelligible.  To  convert  them  into 
a  seditious  libel  upon  the  subsequent  war  between 
France  and  England,  there  must  have  been  circum- 
stances accompanying  the  publication  which  clearly 
showed  a  deliberate  purpose  of  so  applying  them  to 
the  changed  state  of  things  in  1794.  The  true  and 
only  circumstances  accompanying  their  publication 
at  the  latter  period  have  been  unreservedly  detailed 
already. 

That  my  prosecutors  were  too  politic  to  ground 
the  charge  of  seditious  intention  against  me  upon 
these  facts  connected  with  the  publication  is  mani- 
fest from  the  proceedings  upon  the  trial,  which  took 
place  at  Boncaster  on  the  22nd  day  of  January,  1795, 
and  occupied  nine  hours,  nearly  two  of  which  the 
jury  took  in  considering  their  verdict.  At  the  close 
of  the  first  they  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "  Guilty  of 
publishing."  This  the  court  refused  to  receive,  the 
chairman  declaring,  that  if  the  defendant  had  merely 


PR  IS  OX   AMUSEMENTS. 


169 


published  the  song  he  was  not  guilty  of  at  all,  fur 
the  guilt,  if  any,  must  have  consisted  in  publishing 
it  with  a  seditious  intention.  This  was  law,  and  it 
was  equity.  But  as  the  jury  were  retiring,  another 
magistrate  called  out  and  told  them,  that  they  must 
infer  the  intention  of  the  defendant  from  the  content* 
of  the  publication  itself.  This  might  be  wise  counsel, 
but  it  was  hardly  reconcilable  with  the  foregoing  re- 
marks of  the  chairman,  and  in  direct  contradiction 
to  the  doctrine  of  libel  as  laid  down  by  the  latter 
in  his  charge  to  the  jury.  He  then  had  said:  "It 
had  been  stated  that  the  song,  for  which  the  defend- 
ant stood  indicted,  had  been  written,  printed,  and 
published  long  before  the  war  began.  This,  how- 
ever, was  nothing  to  the  purpose :  that  which  was 
perfectly  innocent  in  1792  might  be  grossly  libellous 
in  1794;  and  though  this  song  was  no  libel  when 
first  published,  yet  it  might  be  a  libel,  for  all  that, 
at  the  time  when  the  defendant  published  it.  But 
of  this  the  jury  were  to  be  the  judges.  Many  parts 
of  the  Scriptures  themselves,  if  published  now,  might 
be  libellous  :  for  instance,  the  words,  '  To  your  tents, 
0  Israel!'  if  it  could  be  proved  that  by  Israel  was 
meant  England,  would  be  a  libel,  and,  in  like  manner, 
many  other  passages  of  a  similar  nature." — This  I 
can  perfectly  understand  and  approve  ;  I  can  also 
admit,  that  in  many  libels  the  intention  of  the 
utterer  is  plainly  deducible  from  the  nature  of  the 
contents ;  but  mine  was  a  case  in  which  time  and 
circumstances  alone  could  determine  the  purpose  of 
the  publisher,  because  the  contents  referred  exclu- 
sively to  one  series  of  events,  and  nothing  but  a  crimi- 
nal application  of  the  same  to  another  series  could  fix 
guilt  upon  the  accused.  Now  the  only  point  against 
me  was  the  time  of  issuing  this  equivocal  libel,  while 
all  the  circumstances  were  in  my  favour.  The  chair- 
man had  closed  his  charge  by  saying, — "With 
respect  to  the  case  before  them,  it  was  the  duty  of 
the  jury  to  consider  all  the  circumstances  attending 
the  publication  of  the  song,  as  well  as  the  contents, 
before  they  could  judge  whether  it  were  libellous 
or  not.  Every  doubt  must  be  favourable  to  the 
defendant;  and  it  certainly  was  a  circumstance 
greatly  in  his  favour,  that  he  had  sold  these  songs 
to  a  stranger,  a  person  of  no  character,  whom  he 
had  never  seen  in  his  life  before.  The  jury  were  to 
consider  the  intention  only  ;  for  neither  the  printing 
nor  the  publication,  if  they  were  ever  so  elearty 
proved,  could  constitute  the  guilt  or  innocence  of 
the  defendant,  but  the  design  and  intention  alone." 


I  copy  this  from  the  record  of  the  trial,  in  the  news- 
papers of  the  day.  The  jury,  after  deliberating  nearly 
an  hour  longer,  returned  a  verdict  of  Guilty.  The 
sentence  of  the  Court  was,  Three  months'  imprison- 
ment in  the  Castle  of  York,  and  a  fine  of  twenty 
pounds. 

Now,  through  the  whole  of  the  pleadings  on  this 
occasion  there  was  not  even  a  feint  of  an  attempt, 
on  the  part  of  the  prosecutors  or  their  counsel,  to 
fasten  upon  me  the  guilt  of  seditious  intention  from 
the  evidence  of  any  of  the  circumstances  attending 
my  dealings  with  Jordan.  The  whole  stress  of  the 
charges  against  me  was  laid  on,  not  what  /  had  done, 
but  what  my  predecessor  was  said  to  have  dune,  and 
what  I  might  do  in  following  him,  as  a  champion  of 
liberty  in  Sheffield,  at  that  period  of  political  excite- 
ment; nor  was  there  an  allusion  made  to  a  line  or 
a  paragraph  which  I  had  ever  written,  or  was  sus- 
pected to  have  written,  for  Mr.  Gales's  paper  or  in 
my  own.  With  regard  to  the  latter,  I  have  just  now 
carefully  examined  every  number,  from  the  first 
published  in  July,  1794,  to  that  of  January  23,  1795, 
the  day  after  my  trial,  and  find  not  one  sentence, 
original  or  quoted,  which  can  be  construed  even 
into  a  slight  on  the  king's  government,  or  the  con- 
duct of  the  war;  nor  a  syllable  that  could  justify 
the  charge  against  me  in  the  indictment,  of  "  being 
a  wicked,  malicious,  seditious,  and  evil-disposed 
person."  The  fact  is,  that,  whatever  I  may  have 
been,  my  partner  was  the  principal  editor  of  the 
newspaper,  all  that  time,  and  continued  so  till  we 
separated,  six  months  later.  It  was  he  who  con- 
verted the  Sheffield  Reyixter  into  the  Iris  ;  he  who 
chose  the  motto  — 

"  Ours  are  the  plans  of  fair  delightful  peace, 
Unwarpt  by  party  rage,  to  live  like  brothers  : " 

and  it  was  he  who  wrote  our  introductory  address, 
wherein  are  these  passages,  explanatory  of  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  the  paper  was  intended  thencefor- 
ward to  be  conducted  :  — "  They  (the  editors)  have 
their  own  political  opinions,  and  their  own  political 
attachments;  and  they  have  no  scruple  to  declare 
themselves  friends  to  the  cause  of  peace  and  reform, 
however  such  a  declaration  may  be  likely  to  expose 
them,  in  the  present  times  of  alarm,  to  obnoxious 
epithets,  and  unjust  and  ungenerous  reproaches. 
But,  while  they  acknowledge  themselves  unconvinced 
of  the  necessity  or  expediency  of  the  present  war, 
and  fully  persuaded  that  an  amelioration  of  the  state 


170 


P  B  I  S  0  X    A  M  D  S  E  M  E N T  S. 


of  the  representative  body  is  intimately  connected 
with  the  true  interests  of  the  nation,  they  declare 
their  lirm  attachment  to  the  constitution  of  its 
government,  as  administered  by  King,  Lords,  and 
Commons;  and  they  scorn  the  imputation  which 
would  represent  every  Reformer  as  a.  Jacobin,  and 
every  advocate  for  peace  as  an  enemy  to  his  king 

and   country." '•  It   is   not   their 

intention  to  enter  themselves,  as  parties,  on  the  field 
of  political  controversy;  for,  though  they  shall 
think  it  their  duty  to  state  the  reasonings  on  both 
sides,  upon  public  and  interesting  questions,  they  do 
not  conceive  it  to  be  at  all  the  proper  business  of 
the  editor  of  a  newspaper  to  present  his  readers  with 
his  own  particular  opinions.  And,  whatever  theirs 
may  at  any  time  be,  it  is  too  much  their  wish  to  live 
in  peace  and  charity  with  all  men,  to  feel  disposed 
to  come  forward  as  angry  zealots,  or  violent  parti- 
sans." On  these  principles  of  comparative  neutrality, 
the  paper  was  conducted  during  the  twelve  months 
of  our  partnership;  and,  as  a  reward  of  our  mode- 
ration, nearly  one  half  of  the  sale  was  lost  within 
the  term  above  mentioned.  It  is  true,  that  when 
the  whole  management  fell  into  my  own  hands  I 
took  broader  ground  to  stand  upon  as  editor ;  but  so 
little  to  my  advantage,  that  my  independence  was. 
in  general,  equally  unsatisfactory  to  both  parties. 
Like  my  poetry,  my  polities  were  never  either 
fashionable  or  popular  —  probably  because  they 
were  too  egotistical. 

On  the  trial  at  Doncaster  two  witnesses  only  were 
examined  for  the  prosecution  :  their  testimony  there- 
fore contains  the  whole  of  the  evidence  that  could 
be  produced  upon  the  sole  question  for  consider- 
ation,  namely,  whether  the  song  was  published  by 
me  with  a  seditious  intention.  I  copy  the  testimony 
of  the  song-seller,  Joseph  Jordan,  from  the  printed 
report  of  the  cause  now  lying  before  me. 

"JOSEPH  JORDAN  was  called  and  examined  by 
Mr.  BnCK  for  the  prosecution. —  He  said  that  in  the 
month  of  August  last,  as  be  was  crying  song-books 
in  the  Hartshead  at  Sheffield,  he  had  been  called 
into  the  office  of  the  defeudant  by  one  of  the  work- 
men, whom  he  had  formerly  known  as  an  ap- 
prentice with  Mr.  Trimmer  of  Derby.  The  said 
workman  gave  him  twopence  for  a  pint  of  ale  ;  aud, 
after  some  conversation,  showed  him  a  printed  song, 
no  copies  of  which,  be  said,  had  ever  been  sold  in 
Sheffield.  Upon  which  he  (Jordan)  asked  the  men 
what  they  would  print  him  a  few  quires  for.     They 


said  they  could  not  print  them  without  their  master's 
orders,  and  advised  him  to  go  down  into  the  book- 
seller's shop  to  the  defendant.     This  he  did  accord- 
ingly.   The  defendant  agreed  to  print  him  six  quires 
at  threepence  a  quire,  and  told  him  to  call  again 
the  next  morning,  when  they  should  be  ready.     He 
did  call,  and  saw  the  defendant,  who  said  that  the 
men  had  been  very  busy  in  the  office,  and  could  not 
get  them  done,  but  they  would  endeavour  to  let  him 
have   some   in    the  afternoon.     The   witness   went 
away,  and  did  not  return  till  twelve  days  after,  when 
be  saw  the  defendant  again,  and  received  one  quire 
of  the   songs,  for  which  he  paid    threepence.     He 
afterwards  received  the  remaining  five  quires  at  two 
several  times,  and  paid  the  sum  of  one  shilling  and 
sixpence,   and  no  more,  for  the  whole    six    quires. 
As  be  was  selling  sti-mes  and  giving  songs,  he  was 
taken  up  by  Samuel  Hall,  the   constable  :    and,  in 
defence  of  himself,  offered  to  show  him  where  he  got 
the  copies,  which  be   did.— Though  he  had  heard 
the  song  read  to  him  by  the  workman  who  called 
him  into  the  office  of  the  defendant,  and  though  he 
bad  sold  straws  and  given  the  song  into  the  bargain, 
he  did  not  think  there  was  any  barm  in  it.     The  de- 
fendant had  not  told  him  it  was  seditious,  or  he  would 
not  have  sold  it;  upon  his  oath  he  would  not. 

••  Gnu-examined  for  the  Defendant  by  Mr.  Felix 
Tuxius,  who  bad  been  specially  retained  on  the 
occasion.— He  said  he  had  been  a  song-seller,  »ol 
song-singer,  for  many  years  ;  he  believed  upward* 
of  twenty,  during  which  time  he  had  been  taken  up, 
and  committed  to  various  Houses  of  Correction,  but 
never  for  sedition.  Being  asked  if  any  partioutal 
conversation  had  passed  between  himself  and  the 
defendant,  at  any  of  the  five  times  when  they  nut 
respecting  the  government  or  the  war,  he  ansv 
<>'one  at  all:  the  defendant  had  never  mentioned 
any  thing  about  either  the  government  or  the  war. 
or  any  thing  else  except  the  printing  and  price  of 
the  songs.'  Being  asked  why,  if  he  did  not  know 
the  song  was  seditious,  he  had  sold  straws  and 
given  the  song,  he  replied,  because  he  thought  there 
was  something  extraordinary  in  it,  and  he  sold 
straws  to  make  reople  think  that  there  was  so :  but 
he  positively  swore  that  he  did  not  know  it  was 
seditious,  because  the  defendant  had  not  hinted  any- 
thing of  the  kind  to  him.  He  himself  had  applied 
to  the  defendant  to  print  the  song,  after  having 
learned  of  the  men  that  the  letter-press  was  standing, 
which  he  told  the  defendant:  and  said  also  to  him, 


PRISON    A  M  USEMEXTS. 


371 


that  the  copies  only  wanted  working  off,  as  the 
printers  call  it.  The  defendant  had  only  looked 
at  the  title  of  the  song,  but  did  not  read  it,  nor  say 
any  thing  respecting  the  contents.  lie  had  never 
seen  the  defendant  before,  nor  did  he  know  his 
name;  but  in  court  he  perfectly  recollected  his 
person,  and  had  described  it  to  the  constable  who 
took  hiiu  up. 

"Samuel  Hall,  the  constable,  on  his  examination 
for  the  prosecution,  swore  that  in  the  month  of 
August  last  he  saw  Jordan  in  the  High  Street 
crying  straws  to  sell.  He  bought  one;  and  com- 
plaining that  it  was  rather  dear  at  a  halfpenny,  he 
received  what  the  seller  called  a  book,  —  a  single 
leaf,  containing  the  song  mentioned  in  the  indict- 
ment. Casting  his  eyes  over  it,  he  thought  there 
was  something  wrong  in  it,  and  asked  the  vender 
what  he  had  to  do  with  such  bad  songs.  The  other 
replied,  that  he  did  not  know  there  was  any  harm 
in  them,  and  offered  to  show  him  where  he  obtained 
the  copies.  This  he  did.  He  (Hall)  then  took  him 
and  his  songs  into  custody,  and  brought  him  before 
Mr.  Wilkinson,  the  magistrate,  who  committed  him 
to  Wakefield  House  of  Correction.  He  knew  the 
defendant,  having  several  times  seen  him,  and  paid 
bills  to  him  of  accounts  due  to  Mr.  Gales  in  the 
bookselling-shop  below  the  printing-office,  in  the 
Hartshead." 

This  was  the  sum  of  the  evidence  for  the  prose- 
cution, comprehending  all  the  facts  of  the  case.  I 
brought  forward  no  witness,  for  I  admitted  all  that 
the  two  foregoing  had  testified.  The  arguments, 
assertions,  and  declamations  of  counsel,  on  this 
occasion,  would  be  irrelevant  here,  even  if  they 
could  be  correctly  stated.  The  newspaper  reports 
of  them  were  very  imperfect  and  incoherent,  as  well 
the}-  might  be  when  it  is  considered  that  the  five 
learned  gentlemen  who  were  engaged  between  us 
occupied  more  than  as  many  hours  in  their  speeches, 
during  the  trial,  and  upon  an  arrest  of  judgment, 
which  was  moved  by  Mr.  Vaughan,  on  my  part, 
but  disallowed  by  the  court. 

Had  I,  at  the  present  time,  known  no  more  of 
the  motives  and  machinations  of  my  prosecutors  than 
I  di.l  then,  I  should  have  made  precisely  the  same 
exposure  of  both  as  I  have  done  in  the  foregoing 
narrative;  namely,  that  I  was  marked  out,  from  my 
first,  appearance  in  a  public  character,  to  be  the 
object  of  vengeance  against  my  predecessor,  and 
that  I  was  made  the  subject  of  prosecution  for  this 


petty  act  of  inconsiderate  good-nature  because  a 
more  serious  fault  could  not  be  found  in  all  that  had 
been  done  by  me  personally,  or  as  the  proxy  of 
others,  up  to  the  very  day  when  I  was  arraigned 
upon  the  indictment.  But,  five-and-forty  years 
after  these  things,  in  the  spring  of  1839,  a  packet 
was  put  into  my  hands,  containing  several  of  the 
original  documents  connected  with  my  trial  for  a 
seditious  libel  at  Doncaster  in  171)5.  Among  these 
there  is  a  letter  signed  by  the  Duke  of  Portland, 
his  Majesty's  Secretary  of  State  for  the  Home  De- 
partment, addressed  to  a  magistrate  of  this  neigh- 
bourhood, apparently  in  answer  to  a  communication 
from  the  latter,  wherein  his  Grace  approves  of  the 
several  steps  takeu  against  the  song-seller  and 
myself,  accompanied  by  some  statesman-like  bints 
respecting  further  proceedings.  There  are  several 
letters  from  Mr.  White,  the  Solicitor  to  the  Treasury, 
to  the  attorney  for  the  prosecution  here,  in  one  of 
which  the  latter  is  authorized  to  give  briefs  to  three 
counsel  named,  "with  the  Attorney-General's  com- 
pliments." Thus  I  learned  that  I  had  actually 
suffered,  not  to  say  enjoyed,  the  honour  of  a  state 
prosecution.  Another  document  is  the  Sheffield  so- 
licitor's bill  of  costs,  at  full  length,  indorsed  "  Rex 
v.  Montgomery,  J.  R.'a  Bill,  661.  8s.  2d.  Mr.  White 
paid  tliin."  What  Mr.  White  himself,  and  the  At- 
torney-General, Sir  John  Scott,  (afterwards  Lord 
Eldon,)  received,  I  know  not.  There  are  several 
other  memoranda,  of  no  signification  now.  But  the 
most  precious  of  these  ancient  manuscripts,  rescued 
as  unexpectedly  from  hopeless  perdition  as  any 
classic  treasure  from  the  ruins  of  Herculaneum,  is 
a  fragment  of  the  original  draft  of  the  brief  delivered 
to  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution.  From  this  I 
make  the  following  extract.  After  some  high- 
seasoned  vituperation  of  my  predecessor,  the  scribe 
proceeds  thus  :  — 

"The  prisoner  (myself)  for  a  long  time  acted  as 
his  (Mr.  G.'s)  amanuensis," — the  next  seven  words 
express  an  after-thought,  being  interpolated  in  the 
draft,  —  "and  occasionally  wrote  essays  for  the 
newspaper.  Since  he  has  been  the  ostensible 
manager  and  proprietor  of  the  Iris  he  has  pursued 
the  same  line  of  conduct,  and  his  printing-office  has 
been  precisely  of  the  same  stamp." — This  refers  to 
a  charge  in  the  foregoing  clause  respecting  Mr.  (J.'s 
office,  that  from  it  "all  the  inflammatory  and  sedi- 
tious resolutions,  pamphlets,  and  papers  issued  "  of 
the  political  societies  in  Sheffield.     The  paragraph 


172 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


goes  on,  referring  to  myself :—" Without  calling  in 
question  the  names  or  characters  of  some  of  his 
principal  supporters,  who  ought  to  act  differently, 
suffice  it  to  say,  that  this  prosecution  is  carried  on 
chiefly  with  a  view  of  putting  a  stop  to  the  meetings 
of  the  associated  clubs  in  Sheffield;  and  it  is  hoped 
that,  if  we  are  fortunate  enough  to  succeed  in  con- 
victing the  prisoner,  it  will  go  a  great  way  towards 
curbing  the  insolence  they  have  uniformly  mani- 
fested, and  particularly  since  the  late  acquittals." 

Thus,  after  the  lapse  of  nearly  half  a  century,  the 
true  key  to  the  measures  of  my  adversaries  against 
me  is  found.     What  my  newspaper  was  during  the 
twelve  months  in  which  these  things  happened,  I 
have  already  shown.     Files  of  the  Iris  are  in  exist- 
ence, and  the  printed  records    cannot  be  falsified. 
In  its  pages,  between  the  4th  of  July,  1794,  and  the 
day  of  my  trial,  the  22d  of  January,  1795,  there  is 
but  one  advertisement  from  the  Sheffield  Constitu- 
tional Society,  namely,  "An  Address  to  Mr.  Joseph 
Gales,"  on   his   escape   from  persecution,  acknow- 
ledging his  private  worth,  and  his  public  services 
in    "the    cause    of   truth   and   liberty."     On   the 
liberation  of  three  members  of  that  body,  after  six 
months'  confinement  under  the   suspension  of  the 
Habeas  Corpus  Act,  to  give  evidence  on  the  trials 
of  Hardy,  Home  Tooke,  and  others,  for  high  treason, 
there  also  appears  an  account  of  a  civic  entertain- 
ment among  the  members  of  the  same  Society,  at 
which  the  toasts  and  proceedings  were  distinguished 
by   quite    as    much    temperance,    in    feasting   and 
speechifying,  as  is  usually  observed  on  such  occa- 
sions.    Besides  these,  I  recollect  that  an  address  of 
the  Society  was  printed  at  the  Iris  office,  on  some 
occasion  which  I  have  forgotten.     I  was  told  after- 
wards, that  my  prosecutors  had  deliberated  between 
this  and  the  patriotic  song,  on  whether  of  the   two 
it  would  be  most  expedient  to  indict  me.     Had  they 
decided  for  the  address,  they  would  have  found  that 
it  was  no  more  my  production  than  the  song,  for  it 
might  have  been  claimed  by  one  of  those  who,  in 
the  draft  aforesaid,  are  designated  my  "principal 
supporters,  who  ought  to  act  differently."    Here,  then, 
is  the  sum  total,  so  far  as  my  memory  can  trace, 
of  all  "the  inflammatory  and  seditious  resolutions, 
pamphlets,  and  papers"  issued  from  my  press  by  "the 
associated  clubs  in  Sheffield;"  for  whose  warning 
and  example  I  was  foredoomed  to  suffer,  without  so 
much  as  allowing  me  time  to  commit  an  offence  to 
warrant  condemnation  on  my  own  account. — In  the 


farewell   address   to   my   readers,  in  1S25,  I  have 
stated  the  only  occasion  on  which  I  formed  a  tem- 
porary connection  with  the  Constitutional  Society  of 
Sheffield,  namely,  in  the  time  of  its  adversity.,  when 
it  became  the  duty  of  the  remnant  of  its  dismayed 
and  scattered  members  to  preserve  from  starvation 
the  families  of  their  brethren,  in  bonds  under  the 
suspension  of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act.     That    So- 
ciety, soon  after  the  release  of  these,  and  the  result 
of  the   trials  for  high  treason,  in  London,  died  a 
natural    death.  — With   regard    to    the    gratuitous 
charge  that  I  "occasionally  wrote  essays"  for  my 
predecessor's  newspaper,  those  who  made  it  never 
pretended  to  prove  it ;  nor  will  I  pretend  to  deny  it. 
Had  it  been  possible  to  convict  me  of  sedition  for 
one  or  all  put  together  of  these  juvenile  rhapsodies, 
I  should  not  have  escaped.     It  was  to  them  that  I 
alluded,  in  the  address  delivered  at  the  dinner  given 
to  me  by  ray  townspeople,  of  all   parties,  in  No- 
vember, 1825,  when   I    had   laid   dowu  my  news- 
paper. 


Of  my  second  offence,  trial,  and  imprisonment,  I 
should  not  feel  myself  justified,  at  this  distauce  of 
time,  to  republish  any  detailed  account.     However 
political  prejudice  may  have  disqualified  each  of  us 
from  being  a  judge   in    his    own    cause,  it    was   a 
personal  affair  between  the  prosecutor,  a  magistrate, 
and  myself,  the  writer  of  a  paragraph  in  the  Iris 
reflecting  hardly  upon  his  conduct  in  quelling  a  riot 
at  Sheffield,  on  the  4th  of  August,  1795.     For  this 
a  Bill  was  found  against  me  at  Barnsley  Sessions,  in 
October  following:  I  traversed  to  Doncastcr  Sessions 
in  January,  1790.     There  the  trial  came  on;  and, 
after  an  extraordinary  scene  of  contradictory  evi- 
dence on  both  sides,  a  verdict  was  given  against  me, 
and  I  was  sentenced  to  six  months'  imprisonment  in 
York  Castle,  to  pay  a  fine  of  thirty  pounds  to  the 
King,  and  to  gire    security  to    keep    the  peace  for 
two  years.     Neither  of  the  prosecution,  the  verdict, 
nor  the  sentence  did  I  ever  complain,  considering 
all  the  circumstances;  because,  according  to  the  law 
of  libel,  there  was  ground  for  the  first,  conflicting 
testimony  that  was  deemed  to  warrant  the  second, 
and  the  third  could  not  altogether  be  called  vindic- 
tive.   There  and  then,  though  very  disproportionately 
matched,  my  prosecutor  and  I  joined  issue  on  the 
same  ground  in  an  open  court  of  justice,  face  to  face, 
and  witness  against  witness.    It  was  a  fair  "stand-up 


PUIS  0  X    A  M  U  S  K  M  B  NTS. 


173 


fight"  between  us,  iu  which  I  was  overcome,  the  jury 
being  umpires ;  for  I  count  as  nothing  the  fictions 
of  the  indictment,  the  speeches  of  counsel,  and  the 
part  which  the  magistrates  took  to  influence  the  pro- 
ceedings.—  We  cannot  now  meet  on  equal  terms: 
he  has  long  ago  passed  beyond  the  judgment  of 
fallible  man.  To  that,  indeed,  the  survivor  might 
appeal,  and  perhaps  win  a  verdict  on  a  new  trial, 
where  the  deceased  could  make  no  defence  from  the 
grave.  But  I  could  not  thus  dishonour  his  memory, 
without  doubly  dishonouring  myself,  and  injuring 
the  dead  more  than  I  was  ever  accused  of  injuring 
the  living.  Iu  this  case,  as  in  the  former,  after  many 
years  some  of  tho  official  documents  came  into  my 
possession,  among  which  are  the  brief  held  by  the 
leading  counsel  against  me,  a  copy  of  the  indictment, 
with  various  memoranda  of  evidence  to  be  produced, 
and  to  crown  the  whole,  the  original  draft  of  a  para- 
graph issued  from  the  attorney's  office,  and  published 
in  the  Sheffield  Courant,  mentioning  the  trial,  ver- 
dict, and  sentence,  accompanied  by  a  remark  so 
malignantly  vindictive,  that  I  will  not  trust  my  hand 
to  transcribe  it,  lest  I  should  be  tempted  to  violate 
my  purpose  to  forbear  from  making  any  animadver- 
sion on  any  part  of  the  proceedings  against  me, 
open  or  covert,  in  court  or  out  of  it.  One  fact  I 
will  state.  The  above  paragraph  (the  manuscript 
and  the  print  are  both  under  my  eye  at  this  moment), 
in  reference  to  the  trial,  summarily  observes,  "After 
a  most  elaborate  discussion  of  the  business,  the  ver- 
dict of  the  jury  did  credit  to  their  feelings  as  men, 
and  ample  justice  to  the  above  magistrate's  conduct." 
Now,  of  this  "most  elaborate  discussion  of  the 
business,"  neither  the  paragraph  nor  the  newspaper 
gives  one  syllable  of  particulars.  On  the  other 
hand,  in  the  Iris,  a  report  occupying  nearly  six 
columns  gave  at  length  the  examination  of  the  wit- 
nesses on  both  sides,  with  brief  notes  of  the  plead- 
ings, from  the  impossibility  of  comprehending  the 
whole.  There  was  a  reason  for  suppression  on 
the  one  part,  and  a  reason  for  publication  on  the 
other. 

No  attempt  was  afterwards  made  to  discredit  this 
report  of  the  only  important  disclosures  which  were 
brought  out  upon  the  trial,  nor  to  supply  the  utter 
defect  of  the  paragraph  in  regard  to  these.  I  must, 
however,  distinctly  state,  that  I  never  had  reason  to 
believe  that  the  prosecutor  had  any  hand  in  this 
ferocious  exultation  over  the  fall  of  one,  whom  the 
party  which  had  volunteered  their  enmity  to  me  from 


my  outset  iu  public  life  imagined  hopelessly  cast 
down.  They  were  mistaken  ;  and  so  soon,  as  well  as 
so  thoroughly,  were  they  convinced  of  their  mistake, 
that  from  that  day  I  do  not  remember  I  ever  again 
experienced  any  annoyance  from  one  of  them. 
Twice  indeed,  in  later  years,  I  was  menaced  with 
legal  visitation  from  persons  who  did  not  avow 
themselves  openly,  but  who,  when  they  might  have 
fought,  exercised  "  the  better  part  of  valour,"  and, 
in  their  "discretion,"  let  me  alone. 

With  regard  to  the  magistrate  whom  I  had  offended 
in  the  last-mentioned  case,  he  took  the  opportunity, 
a  few  years  afterwards,  of  showing  both  kindness 
and  confidence  towards  me,  in  an  affair  of  business  ; 
and,  from  his  marked  conciliatory  conduct,  I  must 
believe  that  his  mind  was  as  much  discharged  of 
every  degree  of  hostile  feeling  to  me,  as  I  trust  mine 
was  of  resentment  against  him. 

Of  my  situation  in  prison,  I  may  add  two  or  three 
words,  for  the  reader's  better  intelligence  of  some 
allusions  in  the  following  pieces.  On  the  first  occa- 
sion I  occupied  a  spacious  apartment,  and  the  range 
of  a  passage  having  no  open  communication  with 
any  of  the  adjacent  rooms.  I  was  entitled  to  take 
exercise  in  the  Castle-yard  for  one  hour  early  in  the 
morning.  Of  this  I  never  availed  myself.  The 
governor,  however,  informed  me  that  I  might  have 
that  indulgence  at  a  more  convenient  season,  if  I 
would  ask  his  leave.  That,  however,  I  did  not  feel 
free  to  do;  and  he,  with  great  courtesy,  occasionally 
sent  me  the  keys  of  my  barricadoed  quarters  to  let 
myself  out.  After  my  second  conviction,  on  account 
of  infirm  health,  I  petitioned  the  magistrates  for  the 
liberty  of  the  Castle-yard,  without  being  under  obli- 
gation to  the  governor.  And  this  mercy  —  to  their 
honour  I  record  it  —  was  immediately  shown  me  by 
the  gentlemen  who,  I  thought,  had  dealt  hard  justice 
towards  me  at  Doncaster.  In  other  respects  I  had 
every  comfort  and  accommodation  in  prison  that  I 
could  desire. 

I  shall  venture  to  prolong  this  new  Introduction 
to  my  "Prison  Amusements,"  by  mentioning  a  cir- 
cumstance which  requires  explanation  from  myself, 
who  alone  can  give  it.  In  the  Table  Talk  of  the 
late  Mr.  William  Hazlitt,  vol.  i.  p.  371.,  I  find  this 
paragraph,  which  I  quote  literally:  —  "Mr.  Mont- 
gomery, the  ingenious  and  amiable  poet,  after  he 
had  been  shut  up  in  solitary  confinement  for  a  year 
and  a  half,  for  printing  the  Duke  of  Richmond's 
Letter  on  Reform,  when  he  first  walked  out  in  the 


174 


PRISON    AM  U  SEMEXTS. 


narrow  path  of  the  adjoining  field,  was  seized  with 
an  apprehension  that  he  should  fall  over  it,  as  if  he 
had  trod  on  the  brink  of  an  abrupt  precipice." 

Now  there  is  not  one  word  of  pure  fact  in  this 
anecdote,  which,  nevertheless,  was  intended  to  be 
the  truth  throughout,  believed  to  be  so,  and  published 
to  excite  compassion  towards  the  sufferer.     I  never 
printed  the  Duke  of  Richmond's  Letter  on  Reform, 
I  was  never  shut  up  for  a  year  and  a  half  in  solitary 
confinement,  and  I  never  felt  any  fear  of  falling  over 
the  edge  of  a  narrow  path  through  a  flat  field.     It 
might  be  concluded  from  the  foregoing  story,  that 
I  had  been  immured  in  a  dark  cell,  and  loaded  with 
chains,  till  my  eye  could  not  bear  the  light  without 
giddiness,  and  my  limbs  were  paralysed  for  want  of 
exercise.     The    iron    did   indeed    "enter   into    my 
soul,"  but  it  went  no  further, —  it  never  touched  my 
person — the  nearest  part  of  a  man  to  himself  under 
some  circumstances.     It  is  true  that  I  was  twice  im- 
prisoned, for  three  and  six  months,  in  the  course  of 
"a  year  and  a  half."     Now,  during  the  first  term, 
the  room  which  I  occupied  overlooked   the  castle 
walls,  and  gave  me   ample  views    of  the  adjacent 
country,  then  passing  through  the  changes  of  aspect 
which  Nature  assumes  from  the  depth  and  forlorn- 
ness  of  winter  to  the  first  blooms  of  a  promising 
spring.     From  my  window  I  was  daily  in  the  habit 
of  marking  these,  and  dwelt  with  peculiar  delight  on 
the  well-known  walk  by  the  river  Ouse,  where  stood 
a  long  range  of  full-grown  trees,  beyond  which,  on 
the    left  hand,  lay  certain   pasture-fields    that   led 
towards  a  wooden  windmill,  propt  upon  one  leg,  on 
a  little  eminence ;  and  the  motion  and  configuration 
of  whose  arms,  as  the  body  was  occasionally  turned 
about,  east,  west,  north,  and  south,  to  meet  the  wind 
from  every  point,  proved  the  source  of  very  humble 
but  very  dear  pleasure,  to  one  with  whom  it  was 
even  as  a  living  thing, —  the  companion  of  his  eye, 
and  the  inspirer  of  his  thoughts,  having  more  than 
once  suggested  grave  meditations  on  the  vanity  of 
the  world,  and  the  flight  of  time. 

During  such  reveries,  I  often  purposed  that  my 
first  ramble  on  recovery  of  my  freedom  should  be 
down  by  that  river,  under  those  trees,  across  the 
fields  beyond,  and  away  to  the  windmill. 

And  so  it  came  to  pass.  On  one  fine  morning  in 
the  middle  of  April  I  was  liberated.  Immediately 
afterwards  I  sallied  forth,  and  took  my  walk  in  that 
direction, —  from  whence,  with  feelings  which  none 


but  an  emancipated  captive  can  fully  understand,  I 
looked  back  upon  the  Castle  walls,  and  to  the  window 
of  that  chamber  from  which  I  had  been  accustomed 
to  look  forward,  both  with  the  eye  and  with  hope, 
upon  the  ground  which  I  was  now  treading,  with  a 
spring  in  my  step  as  though  the  very  soil  were  elastic 
under  my  feet.     While  I  was  thus  traversing  the 
fields, — not  with  any  apprehension  of  falling  over  the 
verge  of  the  narrow  footpath,  but  from  mere  wanton- 
ness of  instinct,  in  the  joy  of  liberty  long  wished  for, 
and,  though  late,  come  at  last,— I  wilfully  diverged 
from  the  track,  crossing  it  now  to  the  right,  then  to 
the  left,  like  a  butterfly  fluttering  here  and  there, 
making  a  long  course  and  little  way,  just  to  prove 
my  legs,  that  they  were  no  longer  under  restraint, 
but  might  tread  ivhere  and  how  they  pleased:  and 
that  I  myself  was  in  reality  abroad  again  in  the 
world, —  not  gazing  at  a  section  of  landscape  over 
stone  walls  that  might  not  be  scaled  ;  nor,  when,  in 
the  Castle-yard,  the  ponderous  gates,  or  the  small 
wicket,  happened  to  be  opened  to  let  in  or  out  visit- 
ers or  captives,  looking  up  the  street  from  a  parti- 
cular point  within  the  enclosure  which  might  not  be 
passed.     Now  to  some  wise  people  this  may  appear 
very  childish,  even   in  such  a  stripling  as  I  then 
was ;  but  the  feeling  was  pure  and  natural,  and  the 
expression  innocent  and  graceful  —  as  every  unso- 
phisticated emotion,  and  its  spontaneous  manifesta- 
tion, must  be ;  however  much,  on  cool  reflection,  a 
prudent  man,  with  the  eyes  of  all  the  world  upon 
him,  might  choose  to  conceal  the  one  and  repress 
the  other.     Be  this  as  it  may,  having  once  or  twice 
mentioned  the  frolic  in  company,  I  know  not  through 
how  many  mouths  it  may  have  transmigrated  before 
it  reached  Mr.  Hazlitt  in  the  form  under  which  he 
has  presented  it. 

After  the  foregoing  narratives  and  statements  of 
my  juvenile  delinquencies  and  sufferings,  one  sen- 
tence from  the  original  Preface  to  the  following 
"  Confessions"  will  be  sufficient :  — 

"  These  pieces  were  composed  in  bitter  moments, 
amid  the  horrors  of  a  gaol,  under  the  pressure  of 
sickness.  They  were  the  transcripts  of  melancholy 
feelings,— the  warm  effusions  of  a  bleeding  heart. 
The  writer  amused  his  imagination  with  attiring 
his  sorrows  in  verse,  that,  under  the  romantic  ap- 
pearance of  fiction,  he  might  sometimes  forget  that 
his  misfortunes  were  real." 
November  10,  1840. 


PRISON    AMUSEMENTS. 


175 


PRISON  AMUSEMENTS. 


VERSES  TO  A  ROBIN  RED-BREAST, 

WHO  VISITS  THE  WINDOW  OF  MY  PRISON   EVERY  DAY. 

Welcome,  pretty  little  stranger ! 

'Welcome  to  my  lone  retreat! 
Here,  secure  from  every  danger, 
Hop  about,  and  chirp,  and  eat: 
Robin  !  how  I  envy  thee, 
Happy  child  of  Liberty  ! 

Now,  though  tyrant  'Winter,  howling, 

Shakes  the  world  with  tempests  round, 
Heaven  above  with  vapours  scowling, 
Frost  imprisons  all  the  ground  ;  — 
Robin  !  what  are  these  to  thee  ? 
Thou  art  blest  with  liberty. 

Though  yon  fair  majestic  river  ' 

Mourns  in  solid  icy  chains, 
Though  yon  flocks  and  cattle  shiver 
On  the  desolated  plains;  — 
Robin  !  thou  art  gay  and  free, 
Happy  in  thy  liberty. 

Hunger  never  shall  distress  thee 

While  my  cates  one  crumb  afford; 
Cold  nor  cramps  shall  ne'er  oppress  thee ; 
Come  and  share  my  humble  board: 
Robin  !  come  and  live  with  me, 
Live  —  yet  still  at  liberty. 

Soon  shall  Spring  in  smiles  and  blushes 

Steal  upon  the  blooming  year; 
Then,  amid  the  enamour'd  bushes, 
Thy  sweet  song  shall  warble  clear  : 
Then  shall  I,  too,  join  with  thee, 
Swell  the  Hymn  of  Liberty. 

Should  some  rough  unfeeling  Dobbin, 

In  this  iron-hearted  age, 
Seize  thee  on  thy  nest,  my  Robin  ! 
And  confine  thee  in  a  cage, 

Then,  poor  prisoner!  think  of  me, 
Think  —  and  sigh  for  liberty. 
Feb.  2, 1795. 

i  The  Ouse. 


MOONLIGHT. 

Gentle  Moon!  a  captive  calls; 

Gentle  Moon  !  awake,  arise  ! 
Gild  the  prison's  sullen  walls; 

Gild  the  tears  that  drown  his  eyes. 

Throw  thy  veil  of  clouds  aside ; 

Let  those  smiles  that  light  the  pole 
Through  the  liquid  ether  glide, — 

Glide  into  the  mourner's  soul. 

Cheer  his  melancholy  mind; 

Soothe  his  sorrows,  heal  his  smart; 
Let  thine  influence,  pure,  refined, 

Cool  the  fever  of  his  heart. 

Chase  despondency  and  care, 

Fiends  that  haunt  the  guilty  breast: 
Conscious  virtue  braves  despair, 

Triumphs  most  when  most  oppress'd. 

Now  I  feel  thy  power  benign 

Swell  my  bosom,  thrill  my  veins, 

As  thy  beams  the  brightest  shine 
When  the  deepest  midnight  reigns. 

Say,  fair  shepherdess  of  night ! 

Who  thy  starry  flock  dost  lead 
Unto  rills  of  living  light, 

On  the  blue  ethereal  mead  ; 

At  this  moment,  dost  thou  see, 
Prom  thine  elevated  sphere, 

One  kind  friend  who  thinks  of  me, — 
Thinks,  and  drops  a  feeling  tear? 

On  a  brilliant  beam  convey 

This  soft  whisper  to  his  breast, — 

"  Wipe  that  generous  drop  away ; 
He  for  whom  it  falls  is  blest. 

"Blest  with  Freedom  unconfined, 
Dungeons  cannot  hold  the  Soul : 

Who  can  chain  the  immortal  Mind? 
—  None  but  He  who  spans  the  pole." 

Fancy,  too,  the  nimble  fairy, 

With  her  subtle  magic  spell, 
In  romantic  visions  airy, 

Steals  the  captive  from  his  cell. 


176 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


On  her  moonlight  pinions  borne, 
Far  he  flies  from  grief  and  pain; 

Never,  never  to  be  torn 

From  his  friends  and  home  again. 

Stay,  thou  dear  delusion  !  stay ; 

Beauteous  bubble  !  do  not  break; 
Ah  !  the  pageant  flits  away ; 

Who  from  such  a  dream  would  wake  ? 

March  7, 1795. 


THE  CAPTIVE  NIGHTINGALE. 

NoCTUBHAI  Silence  reigning, 

A  Nightingale  began 
In  his  cold  cage  complaining 

Of  cruel-hearted  Man  : 
His  drooping  pinions  shiver'd, 

Like  wither'd  moss  so  dry; 
His  heart  with  anguish  quiver'd, 

And  sorrow  dimm'd  his  eye : 

His  grief  in  soothing  slumbers 

No  balmy  power  could  steep ; 
So  sweetly  flow'd  his  numbers, 

The  music  seem'd  to  weep. 
Unfeeling  Sons  of  Folly  ! 

To  you  the  Mourner  sung; 
While  tender  melancholy 

Inspired  his  plaintive  tongue. 

"  Now  reigns  the  moon  in  splendour 

Amid  the  heaven  serene ; 
A  thousand  stars  attend  her, 

And  glitter  round  their  queen : 
Sweet  hours  of  inspiration  ! 

"When  I,  the  still  night  long, 
Was  wont  to  pour  my  passion, 

And  breathe  my  soul  in  Song. 

"  But  now,  delicious  season  ! 

In  vain  thy  charms  invite  ; 
Entomb'd  in  this  dire  prison, 

I  sicken  at  the  sight. 
This  morn,  this  vernal  morning, 

The  happiest  bird  was  I 
That  hail'd  the  sun  returning, 

Or  swam  the  liquid  sky, 


"  In  yonder  breezy  bowers, 

Among  the  foliage  green, 
I  spent  my  tuneful  hours, 

In  solitude  serene : 
There  soft  Melodia's  beauty 

First  fired  my  ravUh'd  eye  : 
I  vow'd  eternal  duty  ; 

She  look'd  — half  kind,  half  shy  ! 

"  My  plumes  with  ardour  trembling 

I  flutter' d,  sigh'd,  and  sung  ; 
The  fair  one,  still  dissembling, 

Refused  to  trust  my  tongue : 
A  thousand  tricks  inventing, 

A  thousand  arts  I  tried ; 
Till  the  sweet  nymph,  relenting, 

Confess'd  herself  my  bride. 

"  Deep  in  the  grove  retiring, 

To  choose  our  secret  seat, 
We  found  an  oak  aspiring, 

Beneath  whose  mossy  feet, 
Where  the  tall  herbage  swelling 

Had  form'd  a  green  alcove, 
We  built  our  humble  dwelling, 

And  hallow'd  it  with  love. 

"  Sweet  scene  of  vanish'd  pleasure ! 

This  day,  this  fatal  day, 
My  little  ones,  my  treasure, 

My  spouse,  were  stolen  away  ! 
I  saw  the  precious  plunder 

All  in  a  napkin  bound  ; 
Then,  smit  with  human  thunder, 

I  flutter'd  on  the  ground ! 

"  0  Man  !  beneath  whose  vengeance 

All  Nature  bleeding  lies ! 
Who  charged  thine  impious  engines 

With  lightning  from  the  skies? 
Ah  !  is  thy  bosom  iron  ? 

Does  it  thine  heart  enchain  ? 
As  these  cold  bars  environ, 

And  captive  me  detain? 

"  Where  are  my  offspring  tender  ? 

Where  is  my  widow'd  mate?  — 
Thou  Guardian  Moon  !  defend  her! 

Ye  Stars  !  avert  their  fate  !  — 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS.                                                       177 

O'erwhelin'd  with  killing  anguish, 

And  in  one  triumphant  glance 

Iu  iron  cage,  forlorn, 

Comprehends  the  wide  expanse, 

I  see  my  poor  babes  languish  : 

Where  stars,  and  suns,  and  systems  shine, 

I  hear  their  mother  mourn  ! 

Faint  beams  of  majesty  divine  ;  — 

Now,  when  visionary  sleep 

"  0  Liberty  !  inspire  me, 

Lulls  the  world  in  slumbers  deep  ; 

And  eagle-strength  supply ' 

When  silence,  awfully  profound, 

Thou,  Love  almighty  !  fire  me  ! 

Breathes  solemn  inspiration  round, — 

I'll  burst  my  prison  —  or  die  '." 

Queen  of  Beauty !  queen  of  stars ! 

He  sung,  and  forward  bounded; 

Smile  upon  these  frowning  bars ; 

He  broke  the  yielding  door  ! 

Softly  sliding  from  thy  sphere, 

But,  with  the  shock  confounded, 

Condescend  to  visit  here. 

Fell  lifeless  on  the  floor ! 

In  the  circle  of  this  cell 

Farewell,  then,  Philomela; 

No  tormenting  demons  dwell; 

Poor  martyr'd  bird  !  adieu  ! 

Round  these  walls  in  wild  despair 

There's  one,  my  charming  fellow  ! 

No  agonising  spectres  glare  : 

Who  thinks,  who  feels,  like  you : 

Here  reside  no  furies  gaunt; 

No  tumultuous  passions  haunt; 
Fell  revenge,  nor  treachery  base; 

The  bard  that  pens  thy  story, 

Amidst  a  prison's  gloom, 

Guilt,  with  bold  unblushing  face  ; 

Sighs  —  not  for  wealth,  nor  glory  — 

Pale  remorse,  within  whose  breast 

But  freedom,  or  thy  tomb  ! 

Scorpion-horrors  murder  rest; 

Feb.  12, 1796. 

Coward  malice,  hatred  dire, 

Lawless  rapine,  dark  desire; 
Pining  envy,  frantic  ire ; 

Never,  never,  dare  intrude 

ODE  TO  THE  EVENING  STAR. 

On  this  pensive  solitude : 

—  But  a  sorely-hunted  deer 

Hail  !  resplendent  Evening  Star ! 

Finds  a  sad  asylum  here ; 

Brightly  beaming  from  afar  ; 

One  whose  panting  sides  have  been 

Fairest  gem  of  purest  light 

Pierced  with  many  an  arrow  keen  ; 

In  the  diadem  of  night. 

One  whose  deeply-wounded  heart 

Bears  the  scars  of  many  a  dart. 

Now  thy  mild  and  modest  ray 

In  the  herd  he  vainly  mingled; 

Lights  to  rest  the  weary  day, 

From  the  herd,  when  harshly  singled, 

While  the  lustre  of  thine  eye 

Too  proud  to  fly,  he  scorn'd  to  yield; 
Too  weak  to  fight,  he  lost  the  field  : 

Sweetly  trembles  through  the  sky; 

As  the  closing  shadows  roll 

Assail'd,  and  captive  led  away, 

Deep  and  deeper  round  the  pole, 

He  fell  a  poor  inglorious  prey. 

Lo  !  thy  kindling  legions  bright 

Steal  insensibly  to  light; 

Deign  then,  gentle  Star !  to  shed 

Till,  magnificent  and  clear, 

Thy  soft  lustre  round  mine  head ; 

Shines  the  spangled  hemisphere. 

With  cheering  radiance  gild  the  room, 

And  melt  the  melancholy  gloom. 

In  these  calmly  pleasing  hours, 

When  I  see  thee  from  thy  sphere 

When  the  soul  expands  her  powers, 

Trembling  like  a  brilliant  tear, 

And,  on  wings  of  contemplation, 

Shed  a  sympathising  ray 

Ranges  round  the  vast  creation; 

On  the  pale  expiring  day, 

When  the  mind's  immortal  eye 

Then  a  welcome  emanation 

Bounds  with  rapture  to  the  sky, 

1          " 

Of  reviving  consolation, 

178 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


Swifter  than  the  lightning's  dart, 
Glances  through  my  glowing  heart ; 
Soothes  my  sorrows,  lulls  my  woes, 
In  a  soft,  serene  repose. 
Like  the  undulated  motion 
Of  the  deep,  majestic  ocean, 
"When  the  whispering  billows  glide 
Smooth  along  the  tranquil  tide  ; 
Calmly  thus,  prepared,  resign'd, 
Swells  the  independent  mind. 

But  when  through  clouds  thy  beauteous  light 
Streams  in  splendour  on  the  night, 
Hope,  like  thee,  my  leading  star, 
Through  the  sullen  gloom  of  care, 
Sheds  an  animating  ray 
On  the  dark,  bewildering  way. 
Starting,  then,  with  sweet  surprise, 
Tears  of  transport  swell  mine  eyes ; 
Wildly  through  each  throbbing  vein, 
Rapture  thrills  with  pleasing  pain  : 
All  my  fretful  fears  are  banish'd, 
All  my  dreams  of  anguish  vanish'd ; 
Energy  my  soul  inspires, 
And  -wakes  the  Muse's  hallow'd  fires  ; 
Rich  in  melody,  my  tongue 
Warbles  forth  spontaneous  song. 

Thus  my  prison  moments  gay 
Swiftly,  sweetly,  glide  away  ; 
Till,  the  last  long  day  declining, 
O'er  yon  tower  thy  glory  shining, 
Shall  the  welcome  signal  be 
Of  to-morrow's  liberty ! 
Liberty,  triumphant  borne 
On  the  rosy  wings  of  morn, 
Liberty  shall  then  return  ! 

Rise  to  set  the  captive  free; 
Rise,  0  sun  of  Liberty ! 
Fob.  29, 1796. 


SOLILOQUY  OF  A  WATER-WAGTAIL 

ON   TIIE    -WALLS    OF   YORK   CASTLE. 

Ox  the  walls  that  guard  my  prison, 
Swelling  -with  fantastic  pride, 

Brisk  and  merry  as  the  season, 
I  a  feather'd  coxcomb  spied  : 


When  the  little  hopping  elf 
Gaily  thus  amused  himself. 

"  Hear  your  sovereign's  proclamation, 
All  good  subjects,  young  and  old; 

I'm  the  Lord  of  the  Creation  ; 
I  _  a  Water-Wagtail  bold  ! 

All  around,  and  all  you  see, 

All  the  world,  was  made  for  me  ! 

"Yonder  sun,  so  proudly  shining, 
Rises  — when  I  leave  my  nest; 
And,  behind  the  hills  declining, 
Sets  —  when  I  retire  to  rest: 
Mom  and  evening,  thus  you  see, 
Day  and  night,  were  made  for  me  ! 

"  Vernal  gales  to  love  invite  me ; 

Summer  sheds  for  me  her  beams; 
Autumn's  jovial  scenes  delight  me  ; 

Winter  paves  with  ice  my  streams: 
All  the  year  is  mine,  you  see ; 
Seasons  change,  like  moons,  for  me  ! 

"  On  the  heads  of  giant  mountains, 
Or  beneath  the  shady  trees, 

By  the  banks  of  warbling  fountains, 
I  enjoy  myself  at  ease : 

Hills  and  valleys,  thus  you  see, 

Groves  and  rivers,  made  for  me  ! 

"Boundless  are  my  vast  dominions; 

I  can  hop,  or  swim,  or  fly ; 
When  I  please,  my  towering  pinions 

Trace  my  empire  through  the  sky  : 
Air  and  elements,  you  see, 
Heaven  and  earth  were  made  for  ME  ! 

"  Birds  and  insects,  beasts  and  fishes, 
All  their  humble  distance  keep; 

Man,  subservient  to  my  wishes, 
Sows  the  harvest  which  I  reap  : 

Mighty  man  himself,  you  see, 

All  that  breathe,  were  made  for  me  ! 

"  'Twas  for  my  accommodation 
Nature  rose  when  I  was  born  ; 

Should  I  die  — the  whole  creation 
Back  to  nothing  would  return  : 

Sun,  moon,  stars,  the  world,  you  see, 

Sprung -exist -will  fall -with  me  ! 


PUIS  OX    AMUSEMENTS. 


179 


Here  the  pretty  prattler,  ending, 

Spread  his  wings  to  soar  away; 
But  a  cruel  Hawk,  descending, 

Pounced  him  up —  an  helpless  prey  : 
—  Couldst  thou  not,  poor  Wagtail !  see 
That  the  Hawk  was  made  for  thee  ? 
April  15, 1796. 


THE  PLEASURES  OP  IMPRISONMENT. 

IN  TWO  EriSTLES  TO  A  FRIEND. 

Epistle  I. 
You  ask,  my  friend,  and  well  you  may, 
You  ask  me  how  I  spend  the  day. 
I'll  tell  you,  in  unstudied  rhyme, 
How  wisely  I  befool  my  time : 
Expect  not  wit  nor  fancy,  then, 
In  this  effusion  of  my  pen  ; 
These  idle  lines  — they  might  be  worse  — 
Are  simple  prose,  in  simple  verse. 

Each  morning,  then,  at  five  o'clock, 
The  adamantine  doors  unlock; 
Bolts,  bars,  and  portals,  crash  and  thunder; 
The  gates  of  iron  burst  asunder : 
Hinges  that  creak,  and  keys  that  jingle, 
With  clattering  chains  in  concert  mingle; 
So  sweet  the  din,  your  dainty  ear 
For  joy  would  break  its  drum  to  hear; 
Whilo  my  dull  organs,  at  the  sound, 
Rest  in  tranquillity  profound  : 
Fantastic  dreams  amuse  my  brain, 
And  waft  my  spirit  home  again. 
Though  captive  all  day  long,  'tis  true, 
At  night  I  am  as  free  as  you; 
Not  ramparts  high,  nor  dungeons  deep, 
Can  hold  me  when  I  'm  fast  asleep. 

But  every  thing  is  good  in  season  ; 
I  dream  at  large  — and  wake  in  prison. 
Yet  think  not,  sir,  I  lie  too  late; 
I  rise  as  early  even  as  eight: 
Ten  hours  of  drowsiness  are  plenty, 
For  any  man,  in  four-and-twenty. 
You  smile  — and  yet  'tis  nobly  done, 
I'm  but  five  hours  behind  the  sun  ! 

When  dress'd,  I  to  the  yard  repair, 
And  breakfast  on  the  pure  fresh  air; 


But  though  this  choice  Castalian  cheer 
Keeps  both  the  head  and  stomach  clear, 
For  reasons  strong  enough  with  me, 
I  mend  the  meal  with  toast  and  tea. 
Now  air  and  fame,  as  poets  sing, 
Are  both  the  same,  the  self-same  thing, 
Yet  bards  are  not  chameleons  quite, 
And  heavenly  food  is  very  light : 
Whoever  dined  or  supp'd  on  fame, 
And  went  to  bed  upon  a  name  ? 

Breakfast  despatch'd,  I  sometimes  read, 
To  clear  the  vapours  from  my  head  ■ 
For  books  are  magic  charms,  I  ween, 
Both  for  the  crotchets  and  the  spleen. 
When  genius,  wisdom,  wit  abound, 
Where  sound  is  sense,  and  sense  is  sound; 
When  art  and  nature  both  combine, 
And  live  and  breathe  in  every  line; 
The  reader  glows  along  the  page 
With  all  the  author's  native  rage ! 
But  books  there  are  with  nothing  fraught- 
Ten  thousand  words,  and  ne'er  a  thought ; 
Where  periods  without  period  crawl, 
Like  caterpillars  on  a  wall, 
That  fall  to  climb,  and  climb  to  fall; 
While  still  their  efforts  only  tend 
To  keep  them  from  their  journey's  end. 
The  readers  yawn  with  pure  vexation, 
And  nod  — but  not  with  approbation, 
In  such  a  fog  of  dulness  lost, 
Poor  patience  must  give  up  the  ghost : 
Not  Argus'  eyes  awake  could  keep  ; 
Even  Death  might  read  himself  to  sleep. 

At  half-past  ten,  or  thereabout, 
My  eyes  are  all  upon  the  scout, 
To  see  the  lounging  post-boy  come 
With  letters  or  with  news  from  home. 
Believe  it,  on  a  captive's  word, 
Although  the  doctrine  seem  absurd, 
The  paper  messengers  of  friends 
For  absence  almost  make  amends;  — 
But  if  you  think  I  jest  or  lie, 
Come  to  York  Castle,  sir,  and  try. 

Sometimes  to  fairy-land  I  rove  :  — 
Those  iron  rails  become  a  grove- 
These  stately  buildings  fall  away 
To  moss-grown  cottages  of  clay; 


ISO                                                  PRISON   A  H  USE  M  E  N  I  E . 

Debtors  are  changed  to  jolly  swains, 

The  visions  vanish  in  a  trice, 

Who  pipe  and  whistle  on  the  plains; 

And  I  awake  as  cold  as  ice : 

Yon  felons  grim,  with  fetters  bound, 

Nothing  remains  of  all  the  vapour, 

Are  satyrs  wild  with  garlands  crown'd; 

Save  —  what  I  send  you  —  ink  and  paper. 

Their  clanking  chains  are  wreaths  of  flowers ; 

Their  horrid  cells  ambrosial  bowers  ; 

Thus  flow  my  morning  hours  along, 

The  oaths,  expiring  on  their  tongues, 
Are  metamorphosed  into  songs  : 
Whilo  wretched  female  prisoners,  lo  ! 
Are  Dian's  nymphs  of  virgin  snow. 

Smooth  as  the  numbers  of  my  song: 

Yet,  let  me  wander  as  I  will, 

I  feel  I  am  a  prisoner  still. 

Thus  Robin,  with  the  blushing  breast, 

Those  hideous  walls  with  verdure  shoot : 

Is  ravish'd  from  his  little  nest 

These  pillars  bend  with  blushing  fruit : 

By  barbarous  boys,  who  bind  his  leg 

That  dunghill  swells  into  a  mountain  : 

To  make  him  flutter  round  a  peg: 

The  pump  becomes  a  purling  fountain  : 

See,  the  glad  captive  spreads  his  wings, 

The  noisome  smoke  of  yonder  mills, 

Mounts,  in  a  moment  mounts  and  sings, 

The  circling  air  with  fragrance  fills  ; 

"When  suddenly  the  cruel  chain 

This  horse-pond  spreads  into  a  lake. 

Twitches  him  back  to  earth  again  ! 

And  swans  of  ducks  and  geese  I  make ; 

—  The  clock  strikes  one  —  I  can't  delay, 

Sparrows  are  changed  to  turtle-doves, 

For  dinner  comes  but  once  a  day : 

That  bill  and  coo  their  pretty  loves; 
Wagtails,  turn'd  thrushes,  charm  the  vales, 

At  present,  worthy  friend,  farewell; 
But  by  to-morrow's  post  I'll  tell 

And  tomtits  sing  like  nightingales. 

How,  during  these  half-dozen  moons, 

Xo  more  the  wind  through  key-holes  whistles, 

I  cheat  the  lazy  afternoons. 

But  sighs  on  beds  of  pinks  and  thistles ; 
The  rattling  rain  that  beats  without. 

June  13. 1796. 

And  gurgles  down  the  leaden  spout. 
In  light  delicious  dew  distils, 

Epistle  II. 

And  melts  away  in  amber  rills;  — 

Ix  this  sweet  place,  where  freedom  reigns, 

Elysium  rises  on  the  green, 

And  health  and  beauty  crown  the  scene. 

Secured  by  bolts,  and  snug  in  chains; 
Where  innocence  and  guilt  together 

Boost  like  two  turtles  of  a  feather; 

Then,  by  the  enchantress  Fancy  led. 

Where  debtors  safe  at  anchor  lie 

On  violet-banks  I  lay  my  head ; 
Legions  of  radiant  forms  arise, 
In  fair  array,  before  mine  eyes : 
Poctie  visions  gild  my  brain, 

From  saucy  duns  and  bailiffs  sly  ; 
Where  highwaymen  and  robbers  stout 
Would,  rather  than  break  in,  break  out; 
Where  all's  so  guarded  and  recluse, 

And  melt  in  liquid  air  again  ; 

That  none  his  liberty  can  lose;  — 

As  in  a  magic-lantern  clear, 

Here  each  may,  as  his  means  afford, 

Fantastic  images  appear, 

That,  beaming  from  the  spectred  glass. 

Dine  like  a  pauper  or  a  lord, 

And  those  who  can't  the  cost  defray 

In  beautiful  succession  pass, 

May  live  to  dine  another  day. 

Yet  steal  the  lustre  of  their  light 

From  the  deep  shadow  of  the  night : 
Thus,  in  the  darkness  of  my  head, 

Now  let  us  ramble  o'er  the  green, 
To  see  and  hear  what's  heard  and  seen ; 

Ten  thousand  shining  things  are  bred, 

To  breathe  the  air,  enjoy  the  light, 

That  borrow  splendour  from  the  gloom, 
As  glow-worms  twinkle  in  a  tomb. 

And  hail  yon  sun,  who  shines  as  bright 
Upon  the  dungeon  and  the  gallows 
As  on  York  Minster  or  Kew  Palace. 

Put  lest  these  glories  should  confound  me, 

And  here  let  us  the  scene  review  :  — 

Kind  Dulness  draws  her  curtain  round  me; 

That's  the  old  castle.— this  the  new: 

PRISON   AMUSEMENTS.                                                    1S1 

Yonder  the  felons  walk, —  and  there 

The  same  deep  auburn  dyes  his  ears, 

The  lady-prisoners  take  the  air; 

That  never  were  abridged  by  shears : 

Behind  are  solitary  cells, 

While  white  around,  as  Lapland  snows, 

Where  hermits  live  like  snails  in  shells; 

His  hair  in  soft  profusion  flows  ; 

There  stands  the  chapel  for  good  people; 

Waves  on  his  breast,  and  plumes  his  feet 

That  black  balcony  is  the  steeple  : 

With  glossy  fringe,  like  feathers  fleet. 

How  gaily  spins  the  weather-cock  ! 

A  thousand  antic  tricks  he  plays, 

How  proudly  shines  the  crazy  clock  ! 

And  looks  at  one  a  thousand  ways; 

A  clock  whose  wheels  eccentric  run 

His  wit,  if  he  has  any,  lies- 

More  like  my  head  than  like  the  sun  : 

Somewhere  between  his  tail  and  eyes; 

And  yet  it  shows  us,  right  or  wrong, 

Sooner  the  light  those  eyes  will  fail, 

The  days  are  only  twelve  hours  long; 

Than  Billy  cease  to  wag  that  tail. 

Though  captives  often  reckon  here 

Each  day  a  month,  each  month  a  year. 

And  yet  the  fellow  ne'er  is  safe 

There  honest  William  stands  in  state, 

From  the  tremendous  beak  of  Ralph, — 

The  porter,  at  the  horrid  gate : 

A  raven  grim,  in  black  and  blue, 

Yet  no  ill-natured  soul  is  he, — 

As  arch  a  knave  as  e'er  you  knew ; 

Entrance  to  all  the  world  is  free; 

Who  hops  about  with  broken  pinions, 

One  thing,  indeed,  is  rather  hard, 

And  thinks  these  walls  his  own  dominions. 

Egress  is  frequently  debarr'd  : 
Of  all  the  joys  within  that  reign, 

This  wag  a  mortal  foe  to  Bill  is ; 
They  fight  like  Hector  and  Achilles  : 

There's  none  like  —  getting  out  again  ! 
Across  the  green,  behold  the  court, 
Where  jargon  reigns  and  wigs  resort; 
Where  bloody  tongues  fight  bloodless  battles, 
For  life  and  death,  for  straws  and  rattles ; 

Bold  Billy  runs  with  all  his  might, 
And  conquers,  Parthian-like,  in  flight  ; 
While  Ralph  his  own  importance  feels, 
And  wages  endless  war  with  heels  : 
Horses  and  dogs,  and  geese  and  deer, 

Where  juries  yawn  their  patience  out, 

He  slily  pinches  in  the  rear; 

And  judges  dream  in  spite  of  gout. 
There,  on  the  outside  of  the  door 
(As  sang  a  wicked  wag  of  yore), 

They  start,  surprised  with  sudden  pain, 
While  honest  Ralph  sheers  off  again. 

Stands  Mother  Justice,  tall  and  thin, 
Who  never  yet  hath  ventured  in  : 

A  melancholy  stag  appears, 
With  rueful  look  and  flagging  ears  ; 

The  cause,  my  friend,  may  soon  be  shown, 

A  feeble,  lean,  consumptive  elf, 

The  lady  was  a  stepping-stone, 

The  very  picture  of  myself! 

Till  —  though  the  metamorphose  odd  is  — 

My  ghost-like  form,  and  new-moon  phiz, 

A  chisel  made  the  block  a  goddess  : 

Are  just  the  counterparts  of  his  : 

— "Odd!"    did   I  say?  —  I'm    wrong   this 

Blasted  like  me  by  fortune's  frown  ; 

time; 

Like  me,  twice  hunted,  twice  run  down  ! 

But  I  was  hamper'd  for  a  rhyme  : 

Like  me  pursued,  almost  to  death, 

Justice  at  —  I  could  tell  you  where  — 

He  's  come  to  gaol  to  save  his  breath ! 

Is  just  the  same  as  justice  there. 

Still,  on  his  painful  limbs,  are  seen 

The  scars  where  worrying  dogs  have  been; 

But  lo  !  ray  frisking  dog  attends, 
The  kindest  of  four-footed  friends ; 

Still,  on  his  woe-imprinted  face, 
I  weep  a  broken  heart  to  trace. 

Brim-full  of  giddiness  and  mirth, 

Daily  the  mournful  wretch  I  feed 

He  is  the  prettiest  fool  on  earth. 

With  crumbs  of  comfort  and  of  bread; 

The  rogue  is  twice  a  squirrel's  size, 
With  short  snub  nose  and  big  black  eyes; 

But  man,  false  man  !  so  well  he  knows, 
Ho  deems  the  species  all  his  foes : 

A  cloud  of  brown  adorns  his  tail, 

In  vain  I  smile  to  soothe  his  fear, 

That  curls  and  serves  him  for  a  sail ; 

He  will  not,  dare  not,  come  too  near; 

182 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


He  lingers  —  looks  —  and  fain  he  would  — 
Then  strains  his  neck  to  reacli  the  food. 
Oft  as  his  plaintive  looks  I  see, 
A  brother's  bowels  yearn  in  me. 
What  rocks  and  tempests  yet  await 
Both  him  and  me,  we  leave  to  fate  : 
We  know,  by  past  experience  taught, 
That  innocence  availeth  nought : 
I  feel,  and  't  is  my  proudest  boast, 
That  conscience  is  itself  a  host: 
While  this  inspires  my  swelling  breast, 
Let  all  forsake  me  —  I  'in  at  rest ; 
Ten  thousand  deaths,  in  every  nerve, 
I'd  rather  suffer  than  deserve. 

But  yonder  comes  the  victim's  wife, 
A  dappled  doe,  all  fire  and  life  : 
She  trips  along  with  gallant  pace, 
Her  limbs  alert,  her  motion  grace: 
Soft  as  the  moonlight  fairies  bound, 
Her  footsteps  scarcely  kiss  the  ground ; 
Gently  she  lifts  her  fair  brown  head, 
And  licks  my  hand,  and  begs  for  bread  : 
I  pat  her  forehead,  stroke  her  neck, 
She  starts  and  gives  a  timid  squeak  ; 
Then,  while  her  eye  with  brilliance  burns, 
The  fawning  animal  returns  ; 
Pricks  her  bob-tail,  and  waves  her  eras. 
And  happier  than  a  queen  appears  : 
—  Poor  beast!  from  fell  ambition  free, 
And  all  the  woes  of  liberty; 
Born  in  a  gaol,  a  prisoner  bred, 
No  dreams  of  hunting  rack  thine  head  ; 
Ah  !  mayst  thou  never  pass  these  bounds 
To  sec  the  world  — and  feel  the  hounds  ! 
Still  all  her  beauty,  all  her  art, 
Have  fail'd  to  win  her  husband's  heart: 
Her  lambent  eyes,  and  lovely  chest; 
Her  swan-white  neck,  and  ermine  breast; 
Her  taper  legs,  and  spotty  hide, 
So  softly,  delicately  pied, 
In  vain  their  fond  allurements  spread, — 
To  love  and  joy  her  spouse  is  dead. 

But  lo  !  the  evening  shadows  fall 
Broader  and  browner  from  the  wall; 
A  warning  voice,  like  curfew-bell, 
Commands  each  captive  to  his  cell; 
My  faithful  dog  and  I  retire, 
To  play  and  chatter  by  the  fire  : 


Soon  comes  a  turnkey  with  "Good  night,  sir!' 
And  bolts  the  door  with  all  his  might,  sir : 
Then  leisurely  to  bed  I  creep, 
And  sometimes  wake  — and  sometimes  sleep. 

These  are  the  joys  that  reign  in  prison; 
And  if  I'm  happy,  'tis  with  reason: 
Yet  still  this  prospect  o'er  the  rest 
Makes  every  blessing  doubly  blest, — 
That  soon  these  pleasures  will  be  vanish'd, 
And  I  from  all  these  comforts  banish'd ! 

June  14, 1796. 


THE  BRAMIN. 

EXTRACT   FROM    CANTO   I. 

Once,  on  the  mountain's  balmy  lap  reclined, 

The  sage  unlock'd  the  treasures  of  his  mind : 

Pure  from  his  lips  sublime  instruction  came, 

As  the  blest  altar  breathes  celestial  flame ; 

A  band  of  youths  and  virgins  round  him  press'd, 

Whom  thus  the  prophet  and  the  sage  address'd:  — 

"Through  the  wide  universe's  boundless  range, 
All  that  exist  decay,  revive,  and  change : 
No  atom  torpid  or  inactive  lies ; 
A  being,  once  created,  never  dies. 
The  waning  moon,  when  quench'd  in  shades  of  night, 
Renews  her  youth  with  all  the  charms  of  light: 
The  flowery  beauties  of  the  blooming  year 
Shrink  from  the  shivering  blast,  and  disappear;  ^ 
Yet,  warm'd  with  quickening  showers  of  genial  rain, 
Spring  from  their  graves,  and  purple  all  the  plain. 
As  day  the  night,  and  night  succeeds  the  day, 
So  death  re-animates,  so  lives  decay  : 
Like  billows  on  the  undulating  main, 
The  swelling  fall,  the  falling  swell  again  ; 
Thus  on  the  tide  of  time,  inconstant,  roll 
The  dying  body  and  the  living  soul. 
In  every  animal,  inspired  with  breath, 
The  flowers  of  life  produce  the  seeds  of  death;  — 
The  seeds  of  death,  though  scattered  in  the  tomb, 
Spring  with  new  vigour,  vegetate  and  bloom. 

"When,  wasted  down  to  dust,  the  creature  dies, 
i   Quick  from  its  cell  the  enfranchised  spirit  flies; 


Fills,  with  fresh  energy,  another  form, 

And  towers  an  elephant,  or  glides  a  worm; 

The  awful  lion's  royal  shape  assumes; 

The  fox's  subtlety,  or  peacoek's  plumes  ; 

Swims,  like  an  eagle,  in  the  eye  of  noon, 

Or  wails,  a  screech-owl,  to  the  deaf  cold  moon ; 

Haunts  the  dread  brakes  where  serpents  hiss  and 

glare, 
Or  hums,  a  glittering  inscet  in  the  air. 
The  illustrious  souls  of  great  and  virtuous  men, 
In  noble  animals  revive  again  ; 
But  base  and  vicious  spirits  wind  their  way 
In  scorpions,  vultures,  sharks,  and  beasts  of  prey. 
The  fair,  the  gay,  the  witty,  and  the  brave, 
The  fool,  the  coward,  courtier,  tyrant,  slave, 
Each,  in  congenial  animals,  shall  find 
A  home  and  kindred  for  his  wandering  mind. 

"  Even  the  cold  body,  when  enshrined  in  earth, 
Rises  again  in  vegetable  birth  ; 
From  the  vile  ashes  of  the  bad,  proceeds 
A  baneful  harvest  of  pernicious  weeds; 
The  relics  of  the  good,  awaked  by  showers, 
Peep  from  the  lap  of  death,  and  live  in  flowers, 
Sweet  modest  flowers,  that  blush  along  the  vale, 
Whose  fragrant  lips  embalm  the  passing  gale. 


EXTRACT   FROM    CANTO    II. 

"  Now,  mark  the  words  these  dying  lips  impart, 

And  wear  this  grand  memorial  round  your  heart : 

All  that  inhabit  ocean,  air,  or  earth, 

From  one  eternal  sire  derive  their  birth. 

The  Hand  that  built  the  palace  of  the  sky 

Form'd  the  light  wings  that  decorate  a  fly ; 

The  Power  that  wheels  the  circling  planets  round 

Rears  every  infant  floweret  on  the  ground ; 

That  Bounty  which  the  mightiest  beings  share 

Feeds  the  least  gnat  that  gilds  the  evening  air. 

Thus  all  the  wild  inhabitants  of  woods, 

Children  of  air,  and  tenants  of  the  floods, — 

All,  all  are  equal,  independent,  free, 

And  all  the  heirs  of  immortality  ! 

For  all  that  live  and  breathe  have  once  been  men, 

And,  in  succession,  will  be  such  again  : 

Even  you,  in  turn,  that  human  shape  must  change, 

And  through  ten  thousand  forms  of  being  range. 


"  Ah  !  then,  refrain  your  brethren's  blood  to  spill, 
And,  till  you  can  create,  forbear  to  kill ! 
Oft  as  a  guiltless  fellow-creature  dies, 
The  blood  of  innocence  for  vengeance  cries  : 
Even  grim  rapacious  savages  of  prey, 
Presume  not,  save  in  self-defence,  to  slay ; 
What  though  to  Heaven  their  forfeit  lives  they  owe, 
Hath  Heaven  commission'd  thee  to  deal  the  blow  ? 
Crush  not  the  feeble,  inoffensive  worm, 
Thy  sister's  spirit  wears  that  humble  form  ! 
Why  should  thy  cruel  arrow  smite  yon  bird? 
In  him  thy  brother's  plaintive  song  is  heard. 
When  the  poor  harmless  kid,  all  trembling,  lies, 
And  begs  his  little  life  with  infant  cries, 
Think,  ere  you  take  the  throbbing  victim's  breath, 
You  doom  a  dear,  an  only,  child  to  death. 
When  at  the  ring  the  beauteous  heifer  stands, 
Stay,  monster  !  stay  those  parricidal  hands  ; 
Canst  thou  not,  in  that  mild  dejected  face, 
The  sacred  features  of  thy  mother  trace  ? 
When  to  the  stake  the  generous  bull  you  lead, 
Tremble  —  ah  !  tremble  —  lest  your  father  bleed. 
Let  not  your  anger  on  your  dog  descend, 
The  faithful  animal  was  once  your  friend  ; 
The  friend  whose  courage  snatch'd  you   from    the 

grave, 
When  wrapp'd  in  flames  or  sinking  in  the  wave. 
Rash,  impious  youth  !  renounce  that  horrid  knife  ; 
Spare  the  sweet  antelope  !  —  ah,  spare  —  thy  wife  ! 
In  the  meek  victim's  tear-illumined  eyes 
See  the  soft  image  of  thy  consort  rise  ; 
Such  as  she  is  when  by  romantic  streams 
Her  spirit  greets  thee  in  delightful  dreams  ;  — 
Not  as  she  look'd  when  blighted  in  her  bloom; 
Not  as  she  lies  all  pale  in  yonder  tomb  : 
That  mournful  tomb,  where  all  thy  joys  repose  ! 
That  hallow'd  tomb,  where  all  thy  griefs  shall  close. 

"While  yet  I  sing,  the  weary  king  of  light 
Resigns  his  sceptre  to  the  queen  of  night; 
Unnumber'd  orbs  of  living  fire  appear, 
And  roll  in  glittering  grandeurs  o'er  the  sphere. 
Perhaps  the  soul,  released  from  earthly  tics, 
A  thousand  ages  hence  may  mount  the  skies ; 
Through  suns  and  planets,  stars  and  systems,  range, 
In  each  new  forms  assume,  relinquish,  change  ; 
From  ago  to  age,  from  world  to  world,  aspire, 
And  climb  the  scale  of  being  higher  and  higher: 
But  who  these  awful  mysteries  dare  explore? 
Pause,  0  my  soul !  and  tremble  and  adore. 


m 


PRISON   AMUSEMENTS. 


"  There  is  a  Power,  all  other  powers  above, 
Whose  name  is  Goodness,  and  His  nature  Love  ; 
Who  call'd  the  infant  universe  to  light, 
From  central  nothing  and  circumfluent  night. 
On  His  great  providence  all  worlds  depend, 
As  trembling  atoms  to  their  centre  tend; 
In  nature's  face  His  glory  shines  confess'd, 
She  wears  His  sacred  image  on  her  breast ; 
His  spirit  breathes  in  every  living  soul ; 
His  bounty  feeds,  His  presence  fills,  the  whole  : 
Though  seen,  invisible  —  though  felt,  unknown; 
Ml  that  exist,  exist  in  Him  alone. 
But  who  the  wonders  of  His  hand  can  trace 
Through  the  dread  ocean  of  unfathom'd  space  ? 
When  from  the  shore  we  lift  our  fainting  eyes, 
\Vhere  boundless  scenes  of  Godlike  grandeur  rise, 
Like  sparkling  atoms  in  the  noontide  rays, 
Worlds,  stars,  and  suns,  and  universes,  blaze  : 
i'et  these  transcendent  monuments  that  shine, 
Eternal  miracles  of  skill  divine, 
These,  and  ten  thousand  more,  are  only  still 
The  shadow  of  His  power,  the  transcript  of  His  will." 

April  14,  1796. 


A  TALE  TOO  TRUE: 

Being  a  supplement  to  the  '■  Prison  Amusements,"  origin- 
ally published  under  the  name  of  Paul  Positive,  in  which 
many  of  the  Authors  Juvenile  Versus  were  composed. 
The  following  were  written  at  Scarborough,  whither  he 
had  retired,  on  being  liberated  from  York  Castle,  for  the 
recover}-  of  his  health,  before  he  returned  home.  They 
are  dated  July  23, 1790,  and  were  literally  a  summer- 
day's  labour. 

One  beautiful  morning,  when  Paul  was  a  child, 

And  went  with  a  satchel  to  school, 
The  rogue  play'd  the  truant,  which  shows  he  was 
wild, 

And,  though  little,  a  very  great  fool. 

Ho  came  to  a  cottage  that  grew  on  the  moor, 

No  mushroom  was  ever  so  strong ; 
'Twas  snug  as  a  mouse-trap  ;  and  close  by  the  door 

A  river  ran  rippling  along. 

The  cot  was  cmbosom'd  in  rook-nestcd  trees, 
The  chestnut,  the  elm,  and  the  oak; 


Geese  gabbled  in  concert  with  bagpiping  bees, 
While  softly  ascended  the  smoke. 

At  the  door  sat  a  damsel,  a  sweet  little  girl, 

Array'd  in  a  petticoat  green ; 
Her  skin  was  as  lovely  as  mother-of-pearl, 

And  milder  than  moonlight  her  mien. 

She  sang  as  she  knotted  a  garland  of  flowers, 

Right  mellowly  warbled  her  tongue ; 
Such  strains  in  Elysium's  romantical  bowers, 

To  soothe  the  departed,  are  sung. 

Paul  stood  like  a  gander,  he  stood  like  himself, 
Eyes,  ears,  nose,  and  mouth,  open'd  wide; 

When,  suddenly  rising,  the  pretty  young  elf 
The  wonder-struck  wanderer  spied. 

She  started  and  trembled,  she  blush'd  and  she  smiled, 

Then  dropping  a  courtesy  she  said, 
"Pray,  what  brought  you   hither,  my  dear   little 
child  ? 

Did  your  legs  run  away  with  your  head  ?  " 

"Yes  !  yes !  "  stammer'd  Paul,  and  he  made  a  fine 
bow, 

At  least  't  was  the  finest  he  could, 
Though  the  lofty-bred  belles  of  St.  James's,  I  trow, 

Would  have  call'd  it  a  bow  made  of  wood. 

No  matter,  the  dimple-cheek'd  damsel  was  pleased, 

And  modestly  gave  him  her  wrist; 
Paul  took  the  fine  present,  and  tenderly  squeezed, 

As  if  't  were  a  wasp  in  his  fist. 

Then  into  the  cottage  she  led  the  young  fool, 

Who  stood  all  aghast  to  behold 
The  lass's  grim  mother,  who  managed  a  school, 

A  beldame,  a  witch,  and  a  scold. 

Her  eyes  were  as  red  as  two  lobsters  when  boil'd, 
Her  complexion  the  colour  of  straw ; 

Though  she  grinn'd  like  a  death's  head  whenever  she 
smiled, 
She  show'd  not  a  tooth  in  her  jaw. 

Her  body  was  shrivell'd  and  dried  like  a  kecks, 
Her  arms  were  all  veins,  bone,  and  skin ; 

And  then  she'd  a  beard,  sir,  in  spite  of  her  sex, 
I  don't  know  how  lung,  on  her  chin. 


Her  dress  was  as  mournful  as  mourning  could  be, 
Black  sackcloth,  bleach'd  white  with  her  tears  ; 

For  a  widow,  fair  ladies  !  a  widow  was  she, 
Most  dismally  stricken  in  years. 

The  charms  of  her  youth,  if  she  ever  had  any, 

Were  all  under  total  eclipse  ; 
While  the  charms  of  her  daughter  who  truly  had 
many, 

Were  only  unfolding  their  lips. 

Thus,  far  in  a  wilderness,  bleak  and  forlorn, 

When  winter  deflowers  the  year, 
All  hoary  and  horrid,  I've  seen  an  old  thorn, 

In  icicle  trappings  appear : 

While  a  sweet-smiling  snow-drop  enamels  its  root, 
Like  the  morning-star  gladdening  the  sky; 

Or  an  elegant  crocus  peeps  out  at  its  foot, 
As  blue  as  Miss  Who-ye-will's  eye. 

"Dear  mother!"  the  damsel  exclaim'd  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  have  brought  you  a  poor  little  wretch, 

Your  victim  and  mine," — but  a  tear  from  her  eye 
Wash'd  away  all  the  rest  of  her  speech. 

The  beldame  then  mounting  her  spectacles  on, 
Like  an  arch  o'er  the  bridge  of  her  nose, 

Examined  the  captive,  and  crying,  "Well  done!" 
Bade  him  welcome  with  twenty  dry  blows. 

Paul  fell  down  astounded,  and  only  not  dead, 

For  death  was  not  quite  within  call; 
Recovering,  he  found  himself  in  a  warm  bed, 

And  in  a  warm  fever  and  all. 

Reclined  on  her  elbow,  to  anguish  a  prey, 

The  maiden,  in  lovely  distress, 
Sate  weeping  her  soul  from  her  eyelids  away : 

How  could  the  fair  mourner  do  less? 

But  when  she  perceived  him  reviving  again, 

She  caroll'd  a  sonnet  so  sweet, 
The  captive,  transported,  forgot  all  his  pain, 

And  presently  fell  at  her  feet. 

All  rapture  and  fondness,  all  folly  and  joy, 
"  Dear  damsel !  for  your  sake,"  he  cried, 

"I'll  be  your  cross  mother's  own  dutiful  boy, 
And  you  shall  one  day  be  ray  bride." 


"  For  shame  !  "  quoth  the  nymph,  though  she  look'd 
the  reverse, 
"  Such  nonsense  I  cannot  approve  ; 
Too  young  we're  to  wed." — Paul  said,  "So  much 
the  worse ; 
But  are  we  too  young,  then,  to  love  ? " 

The  lady  replied  in  a  language  that  speaks 

Not  unto  the  ear  but  the  eye  ; 
The  language  that  blushes  through  eloquent  cheeks, 

When  modesty  looks  very  sly. 

Our  true  lovers  lived  —  for  the  fable  saith  true  — 

As  merry  as  larks  in  their  nest, 
Who  are  learning  to  sing  while  the  hawk  is  in  view, 

—  The  ignorant  always  are  blest. 

Through  valleys  and  meadows  they  wander'd  by  day, 

And  warbled  and  whistled  along ; 
So  liquidly  glided  their  moments  away, 

Their  life  was  a  galloping  song. 

When  they  twitter'd  their  notes  from  the  top  of  a 
hill, 

If  November  did  not  look  like  May, 
If  rocks  did  not  caper,  nor  rivers  stand  still, 

The  asses  at  least  did  not  bray. 

If  the  trees  did  not  leap  nor  the  mountains  advance, 
They  were  deafer  than  bailiff,  'tis  clear; 

If  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  did  not  lead  up  a  dance, 
They  wanted  a  musical  ear. 

But  sometimes  the  beldame,  cross,  crazy,  and  old, 
Would  thunder,  and  threaten,  and  swear; 

Expose  them  to  tempests,  to  heat,  and  to  cold, 
To  danger,  fatigue,  and  despair. 

For  wisdom,  she  argued,  could  only  be  taught 

By  bitter  experience  to  fools ; 
And  she  acted,  as  every  good  sehool-mistress  ought, 

Quite  up  to  the  beard  of  her  rules. 

Her  school,  by-the-by,  was  the  noblest  on  earth 

For  mortals  to  study  themselves; 
There  many  great  folks,  who  were  folios  by  birth, 

She  cut  down  to  pitiful  twelves. 

Her  rod,  like  Death's  scythe,  in  her  levelling  hand 
Bovv'd  down  rich,  poor,  wicked,  and  just  ; 


186 


THOUGHTS  OX  WHEELS. 


Kings,  queens,  popes,  and  heroes,  the  touch  of  her 
wand 
Could  crumble  to  primitive  dust. 

At  length,  iu  due  season,  the  planets  that  reign, 

By  chance  or  some  similar  art, 
Commanded  the  damsel  to  honour  her  swain 

With  her  hand  as  the  key  to  her  heart. 

The  grisly  old  mother  then  bless'd  the  fond  pair ; 

— "  While  you  live,  0  my  darlings  !"  she  cried, 
'  My  favours  unask'd  for  you  always  shall  share, 

And  cleave  like  two  ribs  to  my  side. 

"Poor  Paul  is  a  blockhead  in  marrow  and  bone, 
Whom  nought  but  my  rod  can  make  wise ; 

The  fellow  will  only,  when  all 's  said  and  done, 
Be  just  fit  to  live  when  he  dies." 

The  witch  was  a  prophetess,  all  must  allow, 
And  Paul  a  strange  moon-stricken  youth, 

Who  somewhere  had  pick'd  up,  I'll  not  tell   you 
how, 
A  sad  knack  of  telling  the  truth. 

His  sorrows  and  sufferings  his  consort  may  paint, 

In  colours  of  water  and  fire; 
She  saw  him  in  prison,  desponding  and  faint, 

She  saw  him  in  act  to  expire : 


Then,  melting  her  voice  to  the  tenderest  tone, 

The  lovely  enthusiast  began 
To  sing  in  sweet  numbers  the  comforts  unknown, 

That  solace  the  soul  of  the  man, 

Who,  hated,  forsaken,  tormented,  opprest, 

And  wrestling  with  anguish  severe, 
Can  turn  his  eye  inward,  and  view  in  his  breast 

A  conscience  unclouded  and  clear. 

The  captive  look'd  up  with  a  languishing  eye, 

Half  quench'd  in  a  tremulous  tear; 
He  saw  the  meek  Angel  of  Hope  standing  by, 

He  heard  her  solicit  his  ear. 

Her  strain  then  exalting,  and  swelling  her  lyre, 

The  triumphs  of  patience  she  sung, 
While  passions  of  music  and  language  of  fire 

Flow'd  full  and  sublime  from  her  tongue. 

At  length  the  gay  morning  of  liberty  shone, 
At  length  the  dread  portals  flew  wide; 

Then,  hailing  each  other  with  transports  unknown, 
The  captive  escaped  with  his  bride. 

Behold  in  a  fable  the  Poet's  own  life, 
From  which  this  lean  moral  we  draw, — 

The  Mcse  is  Paul  Positive's  nightingale-wife, 
Misfortune  his  mother-in-law. 


THOUGHTS    ON   WHEELS. 


"Crooked  cannot  be  made  straight." 

Ecdesiastes,  i.  15. 


PREFACE. 

During  the  greater  part  of  the  last  forty  years  it 
has  been  my  privilege  to  be  connected,  rather  as  an 
auxiliary  than  a  principal,  in  many  apian  for  lessen- 
ing the  sum  of  human  misery  at  home  and  abroad, 
with  three  gentlemen  of  this  neighbourhood,  Mr. 
Samcel  Roberts,  Mr.  George  Benxf.t,  and  Mr. 
Rowland  Hodgson.  Of  the  two  latter  I  need 
not  speak  here,  because    proofs  of  my  esteem  for 


each  distinctly  will  be  found  in  the  sequel  of 
this  collection.  With  Mr.  Roberts,  however,  it 
happened  that  I  have  been  more  particularly  and 
actively  concerned  on  occasions  rather  general  than 
local,  such  as  the  questions  of  the  Slave  Trade  and 
Slavery,  the  State  Lottery,  and  the  practice  of 
employing  climbing-boys  to  sweep  chimneys.  In 
these,  the  zeal,  the  energy,  and  the  indefatigability 
of  my  friend  far  surpassed  any  corresponding  quali- 
fications which  I  could  exercise  in  aid  of  the  fre- 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 


187 


qucnt  causes  in  which  we  have  been  engaged 
together.  Though,  like  Jehonadab's  with  Jehu's, 
my  heart  was  always  with  his  heart,  it  was  not  in 
every  enterprise  that  I  had  the  courage  to  accept 
his  invitation  to  "  come  up  to  (him)  into  the 
chariot;"  for  the  adversary's  watchmen,  descrying 
his  approach  from  their  walls,  might  truly  exclaim, 

His  driving  is  like  the  driving  of  the  son  cf  Nun- 
shi,  for  he  drivcth  furiously."  When,  however,  I 
could  not  do  this,  I  girded  myself  up  to  run  along- 
side of  him,  till  I  could  no  more  keep  pace  with  his 
speed:  I  then  followed  him  as  far  as  my  breath  and 
strength  would  carry  me.  Among  those  who  know 
him  best,  and  esteem  him  proportionately,  though  I 
may  perhaps  call  myself  the  foremost,— having,  more 
than  any  other  individual,  had  opportunities  of 
understanding  his  motives,  and  judging  his  public 
conduct  by  these, — I  must  not  attempt,  in  this  place, 
"to  give  him  honour  due,"  further  than  by  simply 
recording  my  own  obligations  to  him,  for  having, 
by  his  intrepidity  and  example  on  some  trying  occa- 
sions, caused  me  to  do  a  little  less  harm,  and  a  little 
more  good,  in  my  generation,  than  I  should  other- 
wise have  had  forbearance  in  the  one  case  to  avoid, 
or  fortitude  in  the  other  to  undertake. 

This  influence  was  more  especially  ascendant 
over  my  natural  indolence  and  timidity  in  our  joint 
efforts,  through  a  series  of  years,  to  rouse  the  coun- 
try, and  to  persuade  the  legislature,  against  "  the 
State  Lottery"  as  a  system  of  legalized  gambling, 
and  "  the  employment  of  climbing-boys  to  sweep 
chimneys  as  a  system  of  home-slavery." 

In  reference  to  the  former  I  may  here  state,  that 
it  had  been  the  practice,  so  long  as  I  can  remember, 
for  the  publishers  of  newspapers  to  procure  lottery 
tickets  for  persons  who  applied  for  them,  from  any 
of  the  offices  with  which  they  had  current  accounts 
for  advertising. 

From  1794,  when  I  entered  upon  the  property  of 
the  Sheffield  Iris,  till  1801  or  1S02,  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  executing  such  commissions  to  a  very  small 
amount  annually.  I  know  not  what  lottery  specu- 
lations may  have  been  made  otherwise  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood; but  if  niy  sales  were  the  standard  of  pro- 
babilities in  so  obscure  a  case,  little  of  the  money 
that  was  got  upon  the  anvil  was  thrown  into  the 
fire  fur  the  purchase  of  blanks,  where  prizes  were 
contemplated  in  reversion. 

Once,  however,  about  the  above-mentioned  date, 
I  had  the  misfortune  to  sell  the  sixteenth  of  a  ticket 


which  turned  up  a  prize  of  twenty  thousand  pounds. 
The  price  to  be  paid  for  the  share,  I  think,  was 
23s.  6d. ;  and  the  person  who  bespoke  it  had  left  a 
guinea  towards  payment,  as  the  market  price  could 
not  be  ascertained  till  the  voucher  came  from  Lon- 
don. Accordingly  I  received  it,  with  a  few  others 
which  had  been  ordered  in  like  manner,  and  pledges 
deposited.  These,  with  the  exception  of  that  parti- 
cular one,  were  duly  fetched  by  the  parties  who  had 
bespoken  them.  In  those  days  the  registering  of 
tickets  and  shares  was  entirely  done  in  the  metro- 
politan offices,  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  ad- 
venturers being  transmitted  from  the  country  By 
their  respective  correspondents.  Whatever,  then, 
might  be  the  fate  or  the  fortune  of  the  numbers  de- 
livered by  me,  I  knew  nothing  of  the  event  unless 
the  buyers  themselves  informed  me,  which  they 
usually  did  when  the  prizes  were  small  ones,  and 
almost  as  usually  exchanged  them  for  new  ventures 
in  the  current  or  next  lottery,  paying  the  difference, 
which  was  necessarily  on  the  losing  side  (the 
schemes  being  ingeniously  contrived  to  effect  that.) 
till  a  blank  made  amends  for  all, —  if  it  happened 
to  cure  the  lottery-fit,  though,  that  kind  of  fever 
being  intermittent,  patients  once  affected  were  fear- 
fully liable  to  returns. 

In  the  case  above  mentioned,  the  share  remained 
week  after  week  uncalled  for  in  my  desk,  while  the 
drawing  continued,  and  till  it  was  nearly  at  an  end. 
In  fact,  I  had  given  it  up  as  a  bad  speculation  of 
my  own,  so  far  as  what  was  due  upon  it  had  been 
hazarded  to  a  stranger,  concluding  that  it  must 
have  been  drawn  a  blank,  and  that  my  customer 
would  take  no  more  trouble  about  it.  I  well  recol- 
lect throwing  it  aside  among  some  indifferent  papers, 
and  muttering  to  myself,  "There  lies  half-a-crown." 
One  evening,  however,  a  man  from  a  village  in 
Derbyshire  called  upon  me  in  considerable  agita- 
tion, and  presented  an  open  letter  addressed  to  a 
female  in  whoso  name  the  share  had  been  registered 
at  the  office  (Nicholson's)  in  London,  announcing 
that  the  ticket  had  been  drawn  a  prize  of  twenty 
thousand  pounds,  with  a  hint,  that,  when  the  lady- 
received  the  money,  it  was  hoped  she  would  re- 
member the  clerks  in  the  office.  Till  then  the  said 
lady  did  not  so  much  as  know  the  number  of  which 
a  sixteenth  had  been  thus  registered  to  her.  I  was 
not  a  littlo  bewildered  myself  at  first,  scarcely  re- 
membering when  I  had  last  seen  the  precious  scrap 
of  paper,  and   doubting  whether   the   intelligence 


188 


THOUGHTS  OX  WHEELS. 


were  not  a  hoax,  and  whether  the  applicant,  who 
professed  himself  a  relation  of  the  owner,  were  a 
true  man.  But,  having  found  the  share,  and  ascer- 
tained the  other  points,  I  delivered  it  into  the  mes- 
senger's hands,  and  received  the  small  balance  due 
to  me  upon  it.  I  was  afterwards  told,  that  the 
guinea  which  had  been  paid  to  me  in  advance  was 
put  into  the  lottery  "for  luck's  sake,"  having  been 
found  unexpectedly  in  a  paper  with  some  sugar- 
candy,  in  a  neglected  drawer.  The  fortunate  re- 
coverer  of  the  unredeemed  prize  that  had  fallen  to 
her,  like  one  of  the  forgotten  things  which  the  moon 
has  been  said  to  contain, 

"  "Where  heroes'  wits  are  kept  in  ponderous  vases, 
And  beaux'  in  snuff-boxes  and  tweezer-cascs," 

(Bape  of  the  Lock,  canto  v.) 

proved  to  be  a  very  respectable  matron  in  good 
circumstances  and  of  prudent  habits.  Instead  of 
eagerly  seizing  the  spoil  at  the  expense  of  the  small 
discount,  she  waited  till  the  money  was  full  due, 
and  never  afterwards,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
risked  more  than  the  price  of  another  sixteenth  at 
once  in  a  lottery  or  two  following. 

But  the  strangenesses  of  this  great  event  in  pro- 
vincial lottery  annals  did  not  end  here.  The  suc- 
cessful ticket  had  been  distributed,  if  I  rightly  re- 
member, entirely  in  sixteenths,  and  sold  in  different 
parts  of  the  kingdom.  This  being  blazoned  in  all 
the  newspapers,  occasioned  an  extraordinary  de- 
mand for  shares  in  the  ensuing  lottery;  and  mine 
being  deemed  "a  Lucky  Office,"  commissions  came 
pouring  upon  me  in  a  manner  and  multitude  beyond 
precedent.  These  I  was  enabled  to  supply  on  a 
new  plan,  which,  I  confess,  I  thought  very  hazardous 
to  the  metropolitan  office-keepers,  who,  availing 
themselves  of  this  "tide"  in  the  sea  of  bubbles, 
took  it  "at  the  flood,"  not  doubting  that  it  would 
"lead  on  to  fortune"  in  their  "affairs."  Accord- 
ingly they  appointed  agencies  throughout  the  coun- 
try, and  one  of  these  being  offered  to  me  by  a  first- 
rate  house,  I  accepted  it  as  a  mere  matter  of 
business,  and  for  several  years  I  was  in  the  habit  of 
disposing  from  twenty  to  fifty  times  as  many  tickets 
and  shares  as  I  had  ever  done  before.  Besides  the 
small  commission  on  the  amount  sold,  being  from 
that  time  allowed  the  perquisite  for  registering  the 
numbers  myself,  and  communicating  the  results  to 
my  customers,  I  received  from  day  to  day  the  lists 
of  the  drawings,  and  became  practically  acquainted 
with  the  risks  and  the  returns, —  indeed  so  well  ac- 


quainted, that,  during  the  term  of  my  agency,  I  was 
never  for  a  moment  tempted  to  hazard  a  shilling  on 
a  turn  of  the  wheels  for  myself.  On  one  occasion 
only,  when  the  drawing  was  to  be  closed  on  an  early 
day,  and  I  had  to  send  back  to  my  principals  the 
unsold  shares  in  my  hands,  I  retained  two  eighths 
in  expectation  of  having  calls  for  them  before  the 
last  drawing.  One  was  sold,  the  other  remained 
with  me,  but  proving  a  small  prize  I  escaped  com- 
paratively unscathed. 

Now  of  all  the  thousands  in  every  variety  of 
numbers  which  passed  through  my  hands,  including 
sold  and  returned,  I  do  not  recollect  more  than  three 
shares  of  prizes  above  25?.  —  namely,  two  of  50?. 
and  a  third  of  120?. ;  the  former  disposed  of,  the 
latter  sent  back.  I  thought  at  first  that  the  rago 
for  this  losing  game  would  soon  abate  of  itself.  I 
was  mistaken ;  and  though  after  a  year  or  two  it  was 
less  prodigally  and  promiscuously,  yet  it  was  more 
steadily  pursued  by  regular  customers,  to  whom  the 
habitual  stimulus  became  as  necessary  to  provoke 
and  appease,  while  in  both  cases  it  mocked,  the 
"anri  sacra  fames,"  as  dram-drinking  and  opium- 
eating  are  to  diseased  appetites  of  another  kind. 
In  addition  to  these  perennials,  there  was  an  annual 
succession  of  inexperienced  votaries  of  wealth,  who 
came  and  tried,  and  withdrew,  wheu  they  had  grown 
wiser  or  warier  at  a  reasonable  cost.  And  here  I 
must  observe  that  the  grosser  evils  of  lotteries,  fla- 
grant as  they  were  in  the  metropolis,  came  not 
within  my  observation  here:  what  I  knew  personally 
of  the  original  sin  of  the  system  was  learned  by  its 
ordinary  effects.  My  dealings  were  principally 
with  persons  in  moderate  circumstances,  yet  with  a 
considerable  proportion  of  work-people  and  others 
who  might  have  invested  their  small  savings  (if 
savings  they  were)  on  much  better  securities  than 
the  notes  which  my  bank  issued.  It  was  one  of  the 
lame  pleas  for  the  State  Lottery  in  Parliament,  that 
after  the  suppression  of  the  infamous  insurance- 
offices —  which  never  existed  here  —  there  remained 
no  longer  a  snare  to  tempt  the  poor  to  take  this 
royal  way  to  riches,  the  lowest  fraction  of  a  ticket 
in  the  market  being  beyond  their  power  of  purchase. 
Whatever  the  case  might  be  in  London,  the  rich  in 
this  neighbourhood,  if  they  speculated  at  all,  did 
not  come  to  me.  One  of  these,  a  friend  of  mine, 
told  me  that  he  had  obtained  an  eighth  of  a  20,000?.; 
and  I  heard  of  another  who  was  said  to  have  had  a 
sixteenth  of  a  10,000?.  prize.     On  this  part  of  the 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 


ISO 


subject,  from  an  article  in  my  newspaper  of  March 
25,  1S17,  in  which  I  questioned  some  statements 
made  by  high  authorities  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
I  may  quote  a  memorandum,  that,  in  three  lotteries 
drawn  in  1803,  I  "  sold,  Whole  Tickets  —  not  one  ; 
Halves  —  one  ;  Quarters — twenty;  Eighths — eighty- 
eight;  Sixteenths— -five  hundred  and  sixty-six  !  and 
in  previous  years  far  greater  numbers  of  the  latter; 
maiiv,  veiy  man}-,  of  which  were  bought  by  poor 
people." 

Familiarity  with  some  kinds  of  sin  deadens  the 
consciousness  of  it.  This  was  not  the  case  with  me 
in  reference  to  the  State  Lottery.  It  was  familiarity 
with  it  which  convinced  me  of  the  sin  of  dealing  in 
its  deceptive  wares.  I  was  occasionally  surprised  to 
notice  the  different  kinds  of  money  which  were 
brought  to  me  by  persons  of  the  humbler  class, — 
hoarded  guineas,  old  crowns,  half-crowns,  and  fine 
impressions  of  smaller  silver  coins,  at  a  time  when 
bank-paper,  Spanish  dollars,  and  tokens  of  inferior 
standard,  issued  by  private  individuals  and  compa- 
nies, formed  a  kind  of  wiol-currency  throughout  the 
realm,  instead  of  the  sterling  issues  of  the  Royal 
Mint.  These,  like  the  guinea  of  my  Derbyshire 
matron,  were  ventured  "  for  the  sake  of  luck,"  in 
several  instances  by  poor  women  who  had  inherited 
them  from  their  parents,  received  them  as  birth-  or 
wedding-day  gifts,  saved  them  for  their  children's 
thrift-pots,  or  laid  them  up  against  a  rainy  day  for 
family  wants  or  sicknesses.  With  these  they  came  to 
buy  hope,  and  I  sold  them  disappointment .' — It  was 
this  very  thought  passing  through  my  mind  like  a 
flash  of  lightning,  in  the  very  words,  and  leaving  an 
indelible  impression  (deepening  with  every  recur- 
rence of  the  haunting  idea),  which  decided  a  long- 
meditated  but  often  procrastinated  purpose;  and  I 
■aid  to  myself,  at  length,  "  I  will  immediately  give 
up  this  traffic  of  delusion."  I  did  so,  and  from  that 
moment  never  sold  another  share. 

This,  however,  was  only  cutting  off  the  left  hand 
of  a  profitable  sin,  while  with  the  right  I  was  still 
accepting  the  hire  of  iniquity.  The  proprietors  of 
newspapers  do  not  deem  themselves  responsible  for 
the  contents  of  advertisements  which  appear  on 
their  pages,  so  long  as  these  are  free  from  libellous, 
immoral,  or  blasphemous  matter.  During  the  palmy 
days  of  the  State  Lottery,  and  even  when  it  began 
to  fall  into  disrepute,  the  office-keepers  were  among 
the  most  liberal  contributors  of  such. precious  arti- 
cles to  the  public  journals.     The  columns  of  mine 


were  never  much  burdened  with  these  opima  spolia 
—  wealth  won  without  labour  of  the  hands  or  the 
brains,  gratuitously  bestowed,  collected  at  little  risk, 
and  small  additional  expense  in  the  economy  of  the 
printing-office.  Lottery  advertisements,  therefore, 
formed  a  considerable  proportion  of  the  very  mo- 
derate amount  of  pecuniary  means,  by  which  I  was 
enabled,  under  many  disadvantages,  some  local  and 
others  personal,  to  maintain  my  paper  at  all.  But 
when  my  friend  Mr.  Roberts  and  I,  several  years 
after  my  relinquishment  of  lottery  sales,  determined 
to  attack  the  great  state  evil  itself  with  open,  un- 
compromising hostility,  I  felt  that  I  could  not  con- 
sistently, nor  indeed  honestly,  support  him  in  his 
plans  of  aggression  while  I  was  an  actual  accessory 
before  the  fact  to  the  mischiefs  which  it  was  perpe- 
trating throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  tho 
land,  and  especially  so  far  as  I  was  implicated, 
within  the  range  of  my  editorial  influence.  The 
question  had  long  troubled  me  in  secret;  but,  as  in 
the  former  case,  a  final  decision  upon  it  was  de- 
ferred, till  my  friend  one  day  unexpectedly  attacked 
me  with  a  recommendation  to  renounce  all  con- 
nection with  "  the  accursed  thing,"  which  we  both 
had  now  made  up  our  minds  to  hold  up  to  public 
abhorrence  and  reprobation.  The  counsel  was  hard 
to  a  person  in  my  circumstances:  conscience  and 
cupidity  had  a  sharp  conflict :  but  the  battle  was 
not  a  drawn  one;  the  better  principle  prevailed; 
and  after  the  autumn  of  1816  I  never  admitted 
another  lottery  advertisement  into  my  paper.  Xor 
did  I  ever,  for  one  moment,  repent  the  sacrifice. 

From  that  time,  till  the  abandonment  of  the  State 
Lottery  by  government  itself  in  1824,  Mr.  Roberts 
and  I  in  various  ways,  but  principally  by  para- 
graphs and  philippics  in  my  columns  and  pamphlets 
from  my  press,  waged  a  desultory  warfare  with 
those  ministers  of  the  day  and  their  supporters  in 
Parliament  who  persisted  in  employing  these  unhal- 
lowed means  of  recruiting  the  revenue.  With  the 
late  Lord  Lyttelton  (then  Mr.  Lyttelton)  and  other 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons  who  held  the 
same  sentiments  as  ourselves  on  the  subject,  we  had 
frequent  correspondence  ;  nor  did  the  Chancellor  of 
the  Exchequer  (otherwise  one  of  the  most  upright 
and  conscientious  statesmen  of  the  age)  escape  the 
annoyance  of  our  remonstrances  and  solicitations. 
In  March,  1817,  we  promoted  a  petition  to  Parlia- 
ment from  Sheffield  against  this  national  nuisance. 
I   Whether  this  example  was  followed   at   that   time 


190 


THOUGHTS  OX  WHEELS. 


by  any  other  towns  I  do  not  remember.  We  know, 
however,  that  our  various  labours  were  not  alto- 
gether in  vain, —  but  that  two  obscure  individuals 
in  a  remote  part  of  the  kingdom,  by  strenuous  per- 
severance in  advocating  a  good  cause,  contributed 
something  (however  little  it  may  have  been)  to- 
wards the  removal  of  the  greatest  plague  that  ever 
infested  the  country,  in  the  shape  of  a  tax  upon 
the  poverty,  the  morals,  and  the  happiness  of  the 
people. 

In  1S17  Mr.  Roberts  published  "We  State  Lottery, 
a  Dream  ;  "  a  work  of  startling  eccentricity  in  its 
plan,  and  no  small  ingenuity  in  the  execution. 
Its  frontispiece,  representing  A  Petti/  State  Lottery 
within  the  walls  of  Christ's  Hospital,  in  which 
not  the  drawers  only,  but  all  the  adventurers,  were 
children  of  that  venerable  establishment,  was  not 
without  its  effect  in  abating  one  of  the  most  plau- 
sible but  pernicious  exhibitions  at  Guildhall  and 
elsewhere,  in  the  annual  pantomime  of  The  Grand 
State  Lottery. 

My  "Thoughts  on  Wheels  "  were  but  the  glim- 
mering tail  of  my  friend's  portentous  comet.  The 
latter,  having  long  ago  passed  its  perihelion,  is  no 
more  visible  in  the  literary  hemisphere;  and  the  for- 
mer would  have  disappeared  with  it,  had  not  the 
last  section,  the  address  To  Britain,  been  deemed 
■worthy  of  preservation  by  judges  more  competent 
to  decide  upon  its  claims  than  the  public  will  allow 
an  author  to  be  in  his  own  case. 

October  20, 1S40. 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 

No.  I. 

THE     COMBAT. 

Of  old  when  fiery  warriors  met, 
On  edge  of  steel  their  lives  were  set; 
Eye  watching  eye,  shield  crossing  shield, 
Foot  wedged  to  foot,  they  fought  the  field, 
Dealt  and  withstood  as  many  strokes 
As  might  have  fell'd  two  forest-oaks, 
Till  one,  between  the  harness-joint, 
Felt  the  resistless  weapon's  point 
Quick  through  his  heart, —  and  in  a  flood 
Pour'd  his  hot  spirit  with  his  blood. 


The  victor,  rising  from  the  blow 
That  laid  his  brave  assailant  low, 
Then  blush'd  not  from  his  height  to  bend, 
Foully  a  gallant  deed  to  end  ; 
But  whirl'd  in  fetters  round  the  plain, 
Whirl'd  at  his  chariot-wheels,  the  slain  ; 
Beneath  the  silent  curse  of  eyes 
That  look'd  for  vengeance  to  the  skies; 
While  shame,  that  could  not  reach  the  dead, 
Pour'd  its  whole  vial  on  his  head. 

Who  falls  in  honourable  strife, 
Surrenders  nothing  but  his  life; 
Who  basely  triumphs,  casts  away 
The  glory  of  the  well-won  day : 
—  Rather  than  feel  the  joy  he  feels, 
Commend  me  to  his  chariot-wheels. 


No.  II. 

THE    CAR    OF   JUGGERNAUT. 

On  plains  beneath  the  morning  star, 
Lo  !  Juggernaut's  stupendous  car  ; 
So  high  and  menacing  its  size, 
The  Tower  of  Babel  seems  to  rise; 
Darkening  the  air,  its  shadow  spreads 
O'er  thrice  a  hundred  thousand  heads  ; 
Darkening  the  soul,  it  strikes  a  gloom, 
Dense  as  the  night  beyond  the  tomb. 
Full  in  mid-heaven,  when  mortal  eye 
Up  this  huge  fabric  climbs  the  sky, 
The  Idol  scowls,  in  dragon-pride, 
Like  Satan's  conscience  deified: 
—  Satan  himself  would  scorn  to  ape 
Divinity  in  such  a  shape. 

Break  the  billows  of  the  crowd, 
As  countless,  turbulent,  and  loud 
As  surges  on  the  windward  shore, 
That  madly  foam  and  idly  roar; 
The'  unwieldy  wain  compels  its  course, 
Crushing  resistance  down  by  force; 
It  creaks,  and  groans,  and  grinds  along 
'.Midst  shrieks  and  prayers, — 'midst  dance  and  song  ; 
With  orgies  in  the  eye  of  noon, 
Such  as  would  turn  to  blood  the  moon; 
Impieties  so  bold,  so  black, 
The  stars  to  shun  them  would  reel  back; 
And  secret  horrors,  which  the  Sun 
Would  put  on  sackcloth  to  see  done. 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS.                                                           101 

Thrice  happy  they,  whose  headlong  souls 

God's  law  in  God's  own  name  made  void, 

Where'er  the'  enormous  ruin  rolls, 

Men  for  their  Saviour's  sake  destroy 'd, 

Cast  their  frail  bodies  on  the  stones, 

Made  pure  religi3n  his  pretence 

Paye  its  red  track  with  crashing  bones, 

To  rid  the  earth  of  innocence; 

And  pant  and  struggle  for  the  fate  — 

While  spirits  from  the'  infernal  flood 

To  die  beneath  the  sacred  weight. 

Cool'd  their  parch'd  tongues  in  martyrs'  blood, 

And  half  forgot  their  stings  and  flames 

"0  fools  and  mad!"  your  Christians  cry: 

In  conning,  at  those  hideous  games, 

Yet  wise,  methinks,  are  those  who  die  : 

Lessons, — which  he  who  taught  should  know 

For  me, —  if  Juggernaut  were  God, — 

How  well  they  had  been  learn'd  below. 

Rather  than  writhe  beneath  his  rod; 

Rather  than  live  his  devotee, 

Among  the  engines  of  his  power 

And  bow  to  such  a  brute  the  knee; 

Most  dreaded  in  the  trying  hour, 

Rather  than  be  his  favourite  priest, 

When  impotent  were  fire  and  steel, 

Wallow  iu  wantonness,  and  feast 

All  but  almighty  was  the  Wheel, 

On  tears  and  blood,  on  groans  and  cries, 

Whose  harrowing  revolution  wrung 

The  fume  and  fat  of  sacrifice; 

Confession  from  the  slowest  tongue  ; 

Rather  than  share  his  love, —  or  wrath; 

From  joints  unlock'd  made  secrets  start, 

I'd  fling  my  carcass  in  his  path, 

Twined  with  the  cordage  of  the  heart ; 

And  almost  bless  his  name  to  feel 

From  muscles  in  convulsion  drew 

The  murdering  mercy  of  his  wheel. 

Knowledge  the  sufferer  never  knew ; 

From  failing  flesh,  in  Nature's  spite, 
Brought  deeds  that  ne'er  were  done  to  light; 

No.  III. 

From  snapping  sinews  wrench'd  the  lie, 

That  gain'd  the  victim  leave  to  die  ; 

THE    INQUISITION. 

When  self-accused, —  condemn'd  at  length, 

There  was  in  Christendom,  of  yore, 

—  And  would  to  Heaven  it  were  no  more!  — 

There  was  an  Inquisition-Court, 

Where  priestcraft  made  the  demons  sport: 

Priestcraft, —  in  form  a  giant  monk, 

With  wine  of  Rome's  pollutions  drunk, 

Like  captive  Samson,  bound  and  blind, 

In  chains  and  darkness  of  the  mind, — 

His  only  crime  was  want  of  strength ; 
From  holy  hands  with  joy  he  turn'd, 
And  kiss'd  the  stake  at  which  he  burn'd. 
But  from  the  man,  of  soul  sublime, 
Who  lived  above  the  world  of  time, 
Fervent  in  faith,  in  conscience  clear, 
Who  knew  to  love, —  but  not  to  fear ; 
When  every  artifice  of  pain 

There  show'd  such  feats  of  strength  and  skill 
As  made  it  charity  to  kill, 
And  well  the  blow  of  death  might  pass 
For  what  he  call'd  it  —  coup  de  grace  ; 
While,  in  his  little  hell  on  earth, 

Was  wasted  on  his  limbs  in  vain, 
And  baffled  cruelty  could  find 
No  hidden  passage  to  his  mind, 
The  Wheel  extorted  nought  in  death, 
Except  —  forgiveness,  and  his  breath. 

The  foul  fiends  quaked  amidst  their  mirth : 

But  not  like  him,  who  to  the  skies 

Such  a  victorious  death  to  die 

Turn'd  the  dark  embers  of  his  eyes, 

Were  prompt  translation  to  the  sky : 

(Where  lately  burn'd  a  fire  divine, 

— Yet,  with  the  weakest,  I  would  meet 

Where  still  it  burn'd,  but  could  not  shine,) 

Racks,  scourges,  flames,  and  count  them  sweet; 

And  won  by  violence  of  prayer 

Nay,  might  I  choose,  I  would  not  'scape 

(Hope's  dying  accents  in  despair), 

"The  question,"  put  in  any  shape, 

Power  to  demolish,  from  its  base, 

Rather  than  sit  in  judgment  there, 

Dagon's  proud  fane,  on  Dagon's  race; 

Where  the  stern  bigot  fills  the  chair  : 

Not  thus  like  Samson  ;  —  false  of  heart, 

■ — Rather  than  turn  his  torturing  Wheel, 

The  tonsured  juggler  play'd  his  part, 

Give  me  its  utmost  stretch  to  feel. 

192 


THOUGHTS  OX  WHEELS. 


Xo.  IV. 


THE    STATE    LOTTERY. 


Escapes  from  ancient  battle-field, 
Though  neither  with  nor  on  my  shield: 
Escaped- — how  terrible  the  thought 
Even  of  escape!  —  from  Juggernaut; 
Escaped  from  ten-fold  worse  perdition 
In  dungeons  of  the  Inquisition; 
0  with  what  ecstasy  I  stand 
Once  more  on  Albion's  refuge-land ! 

0  with  what  gratitude  I  bare 
My  bosom  to  that  island-air, 
Which  tyrants  gulp  and  cease  to  be, 
Which  slaves  inhale  and  slaves  are  free ! 
For  though  the  wheels,  behind  my  back, 
Still  seem  to  rumble  in  my  track, 
Their  sound  is  music  on  the  breeze; 

1  dare  them  all  to  cross  the  seas : 

—  Nay,  should  they  reach  our  guarded  coast, 
Like  Pharaoh's  chariots  and  his  host, 
Monks,  Bramins,  warriors,  swoln  and  dead, 
Axles  and  orbs,  in  wrecks  were  spread. 

And  are  there  on  this  holy  ground 
Xo  wheels  to  trail  the  vanquish'd  found? 
None  framed  the  living  bones  to  break, 
Or  rend  the  nerves  for  conscience-sake? 
Xo  :  —  Britons  scorn  the'  unhallow'd  touch; 
They  will  not  use,  nor  suffer,  such  : 
Alike  thrij  shun,  with  fearless  heart, 
The  victim's  and  tormentor's  part. 

Yet  here  are  wheels  of  feller  kind, 
To  drag  in  chains  the  captive  mind  ; 
To  crush,  beneath  their  horrid  load, 
Hearts  panting  prostrate  on  the  road; 
To  wind  desire  from  spoke  to  spoke, 
And  break  the  spirit  stroke  by  stroke. 

Where  Gog  and  Magog,  London's  pride, 
O'er  city  bankruptcies  preside ; 
Stone-blind  at  nisiprius  sit, 
Hearken  stone-deaf  to  lawyers'  wit; 
Or  scowl  on  men,  that  play  the  beasts 
At  Common  nails  and  Lord  Mayors'  feasts, 
When  venison  or  the  public  cause, 
Taxes  or  turtle,  stretch  their  jaws; 


There, —  in  a  whisper  be  it  said, 
Lest  honest  Beckford  shake  his  head; 
Lest  Chatham,  with  indignant  cheek, 
Start  from  his  pedestal  and  speak; 
Lest  Chatham's  son  in  marble  groan, 
As  if  restored  to  skin  and  bone;1 
There, —  speak!  speak  out !  abandon  fear  ! 
Let  both  the  dead  and  living  hear; 

—  The  dead,  that  they  may  blush  for  shame 
Amidst  their  monumental  fame; 

—  The  living,  that,  forewarn'd  of  fate, 
Conscience  may  force  them,  ere  too  late, 
Those  Wheels  of  infamy  to  shun, 
Which  thousands  touch,  and  are  undone : 

There, — built  by  legislative  hands, 
On  Christian  ground,  an  altar  stands. 
— "Stands?  gentle  Poet,  tell  me  where?" 
Go  to  Guildhall: — "It  stands  not  there.'" 
True ; — 't  is  my  brain  that  raves  and  reels 
Whene'er  it  turns  on  Lottery  Wheels : 
Such  things  in  youth  can  I  recall 
Xor  think  of  thee, —  of  thee,  Guildhall? 
Where  erst  I  play'd  with  glittering  schemes, 
And  lay  entranced  in  golden  dreams; 
Bright  round  my  head  those  bubbles  broke, 
Poorer  from  every  dream  I  'woke  : 
Wealth  came, —  but  not  the  wealth  I  sought; 
Wisdom  was  wealth  to  me ;  and  taught 
My  feet  to  mine  thy  gates,— that  la}', 
Like  toll-bars  on  the  old  "broad  way," 
Where  pilgrims  paid, —  0  grief  to  tell!  — 
Tribute  for  going  down  to  hell. 

Long  on  thy  floor  an  altar  stood, 
To  human  view  unstain'd  with  blood, 
But  red  and  foul  in  Heaven's  pure  eyes, 
Groaning  with  infant  sacrifice, 
From  year  to  year;  —  till  sense  or  shame, 
Or  some  strange  cause  without  a  name, 
— 'Twas  not  the  cry  of  innocence, — 
Drove  such  abomination  thence  : 
Thence  drove  it, —  but  destroy'd  it  not; 
It  blackens  some  obscurer  spot; 
Obscurer, — yet  so  well  defined, 
Thither  the  blind  may  lead  the  blind, 
While  heralds  shout  in  every  ear, 
"This  is  the  temple, —  worship  here." 

i  These  lines  refer  to  the  statues  of  British  worthies  which 
adorn  the  Guildhall  of  London. 


THOUGHTS  OX  WHEELS. 


10." 


Thither  the  deaf  may  read  their  way; 
'Tis  plain  ;  —  to  find  it,  go  astray  ! 
Thither  the  lame,  on  wings  of  paper, 
May  come  to  nothing,  like  a  vapour; 
Thither  may  all  the  world  repair; 
A  word,  a  wish,  will  waft  you  there  ; 
And,  0  so  smooth  and  steep  the  track, 
'Tis  worth  your  life  to  venture  back : 
Easy  the  step  to  Coopers'  Hall,1 
As  headlong  from  a  cliff  to  fall  ; 
Hard  to  recover  from  the  shock, 
As  broken-limb'd  to  climb  a  rock. 

There,  built  by  legislative  hands, 
Our  country's  shame,  an  altar  stands  : 
Not  votive  brass,  nor  hallow'd  stone, 
Humbly  inscribed  —  "  To  God  unknown  ; ' 
Though  sure,  if  earth  afford  a  space 
For  such  an  altar,  here  's  the  place  : 

—  Not  breathing  incense  in  a  shrine, 
Where  human  art  appears  divine, 

And  man  by  his  own  skill  hath  wrought 
So  bright  an  image  of  his  thought, 
That  nations,  barbarous  or  refined, 
Might  worship  there  the'  immortal  mind, 
That  gave  their  ravish'd  eyes  to  see 
A  meteor  glimpse  of  Deity; 
A  ray  of  Nature's  purest  light 
Shot  through  the  gulf  of  Pagan  night, 
Dazzling, —  but  leaving  darkness  more 
Profoundly  blinding  than  before. 

—  Ah  !  no  such  power  of  genius  calls 
Sublime  devotion  to  these  walls  ; 

No  pomp  of  art,  surpassing  praise, 

Britannia's  altar  here  displays ; 

A  money-changer's  table, —  spread 

With  hieroglyphics,  black  and  red, 

Exhibits,  on  deceitful  scrolls, 

"  The  price  of  Tickets,"—  and  of  Souls  ; 

For  thus  are  Souls  to  market  brought, 

Barter'd  for  vanity, —  for  nought ; 

Till  the  poor  venders  find  the  cost, — 

Time  to  eternal  ages  lost ! 

No  sculptured  idol  decks  the  place, 
Of  such  excelling  form  and  face, 
That  Grecian  pride  might  feign  its  birth 
A  statue  fallen  from  heaven  to  earth  ; 


1  Where  the  State  Lottery  was  drawn  for  many  years. 
18 


The  goddess  here  is  best  design'd, 
—  A  flimsy  harlot,  bold  and  blind; 
Invisible  to  stand  ers-by, 
And  yet  in  every-body's  eye  ! 
Fortune  her  name  ;  — a  gay  deceiver. 
Cheat  as  she  may,  the  crowd  believe  her  ; 
And  she,  abuse  her  as  they  will, 
Showers  on  the  crowd  her  favours  still  . 
For  'tis  the  bliss  of  both  to  be 
Themselves  unseen,  and  not  to  see  : 
Had  she  discernment,  — pride  would  ?eout 
The  homage  of  her  motley  rout : 
Were  she  reveal'd, —  the  poorest  slave 
Would  blush  to  be  her  luckiest  knave. 

Not  good  old  fortune  here  we  scorn, 
In  classic  fable  heavenly  born  ; 
She  who  for  nothing  deigns  to  deal 
Her  blanks  and  prizes  from  One  Wheel ; 
And  who,  like  Justice,  wisely  blind, 
Scatters  her  bounties  on  mankind 
With  such  a  broad  impartial  aim, 
If  none  will  praise  her,  none  should  blame; 
For  were  ten  thousand  fancies  tried, 
Wealth  more  discreetly  to  divide 
Among  the  craving  race  of  man, 
Wit  could  not  frame  a  happier  plan. 

Here  'tis  her  Counterfeit,  who  reigns 
O'er  haunted  heads  and  moon-struck  brains  : 
A  Two-wheel' d  Jade,  admired  by  sots, 
Who  flings,  for  cash  in  hand,  her  lots 
To  those,  who,  fain  "  their  luck  to  try," 
Sell  Hope,  and  Disappointment  buy. 
The  wily  sorceress  here  reveals, 
With  proud  parade,  her  mystic  Wheels ; 

—  Those  Wheels,  on  which  the  nation  runs 
Over  the  morals  of  its  Sons  ; 

—  Those  Wheels,  at  which  the  nation  draws 
Through  shouting  streets  its  broken  laws  ! 
Engines  of  plotting  Fortune's  skill 

To  lure,  entangle,  torture,  kill. 

Behold  her,  in  imperial  pride, 

King,  Lords,  and  Commons  at  her  side  ; 

Arm'd  with  authority  of  state, 

The  public  peace  to  violate  : 

More  might  be  told, —  but  not  by  me 

Must  this  "eternal  blazon"  be. 

Between  her  AVheels  the  Phantom  stands, 

With  Syren  voice,  and  Harpy  bands: 


194 


THOUGHTS  ON  WHEELS. 


She  turns  the'  enchanted  axle  round; 
Furth  leaps  the  "twenty  thousand  pound! 
That  "  twenty  thousand"  one  has  got; 

—  But  twenty  thousand  more  have  not. 
These  curse  her  to  her  face,  deplore 

Their  loss,  then  —  take  her  word  once  more  : 
Once  more  deceived,  they  rise  like  men, 
Bravely  resolved  —  to  try  again  ; 
Again  they  fail;  — again  trepann'd, 
She  mocks  them  with  her  sleight  of  hand; 
Still  fired  with  rage,  with  avarice  steel'd, 
Perish  they  may,  but  never  yield  ; 
They  woo  her  till  their  latest  breath, 
Then  snatch  their  prize  —  a  blank  in  death. 

The  priests  that  in  her  temple  wait, 
Her  minor  ministers  of  fate, 
Like  Dian's  silversmiths  of  old, 
True  to  the  craft  that  brings  them  gold, 
Lungs,  limbs,  and  pens,  unwearied  ply 
To  puff  their  Goddess  to  the  sky  : 
0  that  their  puffs  could  fix  Her  there, 
Who  builds  such  castles  in  the  air, 
And  in  the  malice  of  her  mirth 
Lets  them  to  simpletons  on  earth  ! 

—  AVho  steals  the  rainbow's  peaceful  form, 
But  i<  the  demon  of  the  storm ; 

—  Assumes  a  star's  benignant  mien, 
But  wears  a  comet's  tail  unseen  ; 

—  Who  smiles  a  Juno  to  the  crowd, 
But  all  that  win  her  catch  a  cloud, 
And,  doom'd  Ixion's  fate  to  feel, 
Are  whirl'd  upon  a  giddier  wheel. 

—  0  that  her  priests  could  fix  lier  there, 
Whose  breath  and  being  are  but  air  ! 
Yet  not  for  this  their  spells  they  try; 
They  bawl  to  keep  her  from  the  sky, 

A  harmless  meteor  in  that  sphere  ; 
A  baleful  Ignis  fatuua  here, 
With  wandering  and  bewildering  light, 
To  cheer,  and  then  confound,  the  sight, 
Guide  the  lorn  traveller, —  then  betray, 
Where  death  in  ambush  lurks  for  prey. 

Fierce,  but  familiar,  at  their  call, 
The  veriest  fiend  of  Satan's  fall ; 

—  The  fiend  that  tempted  him  to  stake 
Heaven's  bliss  against  the  burning  lake ; 

—  The  fiend  that  tempted  him  again 
To  burst  the  darkness  of  his  den, 


And  risk  whate'er  of  wrath  untried 
Eternal  justice  yet  could  hide, 
For  one  transcendent  chance,  by  sin, 
Man  and  his  new-made  world  to  win ; 

—  That  fiend,  while  Satan  play'd  his  part 
At  Eve's  fond  ear,  assail'd  her  heart, 
And  tempted  her  to  hazard  more 

Than  fallen  Angels  lost  before  ; 

They  ruin'd  but  themselves  —  her  crime 

Brought  death  on  all  the  race  of  time  : 

—  That  fiend  comes  forth,  like  iEtna's  flame; 
The  spirit  of  gambling  call  his  name; 

So  flush'd  and  terrible  in  power, 

The  priests  themselves  he  would  devour ; 

But  straight,  by  Act  of  Parliament, 

Loose  through  the  land  his  plagues  are  sent. 

That  Polypus  himself  divides, 

A  legion  issues  from  his  sides : 

Ten  thousand  shapes  he  wears  at  will, 

In  every  shape  a  devil  still ; 

Eager  and  restless  to  be  known 

By  any  mark  except  his  own  ; 

In  airy,  earthly,  heavenly  guise, 

No  matter, —  if  it  strike  the  eyes  ; 

Yet  ever,  at  the  clink  of  pelf, 

He  starts,  and  shrinks  into  himself: 

—  A  traitor  now,  with  face  of  truth, 
He  dupes  the  innocence  of  youth  ; 

A  shrewd  pretender,  smooth  and  sage. 
He  tempts  the  avarice  of  age ; 
A  wizard,  versed  in  damned  arts, 
He  trammels  uncorrupted  hearts  ; 
ne  lulls  Suspicion,  Sense  waylays, 
Honour  and  Honesty  betrays, 
Finds  Virtue  sleeping,  and  by  stealth 
Beguiles  her  with  a  dream  of  wealth  ; 
Till  rich  and  poor,  till  fools  and  wise, 
Haste  to  the  headlong  sacrifice, 
Gaze  till  they  slip  into  the  snare: 

—  Angels  might  weep  to  see  them  there  ; 
Then  to  the  Lottery  Wheels  away, 

The  spirit  of  gambling  drags  his  prey. 

Hail  to  the  fiery  bigot's  rack  ! 
Hail  Juggernaut's  destructive  track  ! 
nail  to  the  warrior's  iron  car  ! 
But  0,  be  Lottery  Wheels  afar  ! 
I'll  die  by  torture,  war,  disease, 
I'll  die  — by  any  wheels  but  these! 


THOUGHTS 

ON  AVIIEELS.                                                           195 

I  love  Thee, — ■  when  I  contemplate 

The  full-orb'd  grandeur  of  thy  state; 

No.  V. 

Thy  laws  and  liberties,  that  rise, 

Man's  noblest  works  beneath  the  skies, 

To  which  the  Pyramids  are  tame, 

TO     BRITAIN. 

And  Grecian  temples  bow  their  fame : 

These,  thine  immortal  sages  wrought 

I  love  Thee,  0  my  native  Isle  ! 

Out  of  the  deepest  mines  of  thought ; 

Dear  as  rny  mother's  earliest  smile, 

These,  on  the  scaffold,  in  the  field, 

Sweet  as  my  father's  voice  to  me, 

Thy  warriors  won,  thy  patriots  seal'd ; 

Is  all  I  hear,  and  all  I  see, 

These,  at  the  parricidal  pyre, 

When,  glancing  o'er  thy  beauteous  land, 

Thy  martyrs  sanctified  in  fire, 

In  view  thy  Public  Virtues  stand, 

And  with  the  generous  blood  they  spilt, 

The  Guardian-angels  of  thy  coast, 

Wash'd  from  thy  soil  their  murderers'  guilt, 

"Who  watch  the  dear  domestic  Host, 

Cancell'd  the  curse  which  Vengeance  sped, 

The  Heart's  Affections,  pleas'd  to  roam 

And  left  a  blessing  in  its  stead. 

Around  the  quiet  heaven  of  Home. 

Can  words,  can  numbers,  count  the  price 

Paid  for  this  little  paradise  ? 

I  love  Thee,  —  when  I  mark  thy  soil 

Never,  oh  !  never  be  it  lost ; 

Flourish  beneath  the  peasant's  toil, 

The  land  is  worth  the  price  it  cost. 

And  from  its  lap  of  verdure  throw 

Treasures  which  neither  Indies  know. 

I  love  Thee, —  when  thy  Sabbath  dawns 

O'er  woods  and  mountains,  dales  and  lawns, 

I  love  Thee, —  when  I  hear  around 

And  streams  that  sparkle  while  they  run, 

Thy  looms,  and  wheels,  and  anvils  sound, 

As  if  their  fountaiu  were  the  Sun  : 

Thine  engines  heaving  all  their  force, 

When,  hand  in  hand,  thy  tribes  repair, 

Thy  waters  labouring  on  their  course, 

Each  to  their  chosen  house  of  prayer, 

And  arts,  and  industry,  and  wealth, 

And  all  in  peace  and  freedom  call 

Exulting  in  the  joys  of  health. 

On  Him,  who  is  the  Lord  of  all. 

I  love  Thee, —  when  I  trace  thy  tale 

I  love  Thee, —  when  my  soul  can  feel 

To  the  dim  point  where  records  fail ; 

The  seraph-ardours  of  thy  zeal  : 

Thy  deeds  of  old  renown  inspire 

Thy  charities,  to  none  confined, 

My  bosom  with  our  father's  fire; 

Bless,  like  the  sun,  the  rain,  the  wind; 

A  proud  inheritance  I  claim 

Thy  schools  the  human  brute  shall  raise, 

In  all  their  sufferings,  all  their  fame  : 

Guide  erring  youth  in  wisdom's  ways, 

Nor  less  delighted,  when  I  stray 

And  leave,  when  we  are  turn'd  to  dust, 

Down  History's  lengthening,  widening  way, 

A  generation  of  the  just. 

And  hail  Thee  in  thy  present  hour, 

From  the  meridian  arch  of  power, 

I  love  Thee, —  when  I  see  thee  stand 

Shedding  the  lustre  of  thy  reign, 

The  hope  of  every  other  land  ; 

Like  sunshine,  over  land  and  main. 

A  sea-mark  in  the  tide  of  time, 

Bearing  to  heaven  thy  brow  sublime  ; 

I  love  Thee, —  when  I  read  the  lays 

Whence  beams  of  Gospel-splendour  shed 

Of  British  bards  in  elder  days, 

A  sacred  halo  round  thy  head; 

Till,  rapt  on  visionary  wings, 

And  Gentiles  from  afar  behold 

High  o'er  thy  cliffs  my  spirit  sings ; 

(Not  as  on  Sinai's  rocks  of  old) 

For  I,  amidst  thy  living  choir, 

God, — -from  eternity  conceal'd, 

I,  too,  can  touch  the  sacred  lyre. 

In  his  own  light,  on  Thee  reveal'd. 

196 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


I  love  Thee, —  when  I  hear  thy  voice 
Bid  a  despairing  world  rejoice, 
And  loud  from  shore  to  shore  proclaim, 
In  every  tongue,  Messiah's  name; 
That  name,  at  which,  from  sea  to  sea, 
All  nations  yet  shall  how  the  knee. 

I  love  Thee  :  —  next  to  heaven  above, 
Land  of  my  fathers  !  thee  I  love  ; 
And,  rail  thy  slanderers  as  they  will, 
"With  all  thy  faults  I  love  Thee"  still: 
For  faults  thou  bast  of  heinous  size ; 
Repent,  renounce  them,  ere  they  rise 
In  judgment;  lest  thine  ocean  wall 
With  boundless  ruin  round  thee  fall, 
And  that,  which  was  thy  mightiest  stay, 
Sweep  all  thy  rocks  like  sand  away. 

Yes,  thou  hast  faults  of  heinous  size, 
From  which  I  turn  with  weeping  eyes  ; 
On  these  let  them  that  hate  Thee  dwell; 
Yet  one  I  spare  not  —  one  I  tell, 
Tell  with  a  whisper  in  thine  ear; 
Oh  !  might  it  wring  thy  heart  with  fear ! 
Oh  !  that  my  weakest  word  might  roll, 
Like  heaven's  own  thunder  through  thy  soul ! 

There  is  a  Vie  in  thy  right  hand ; 
A  bribe,  corrupting  all  the  land  ; 


There  is  within  thy  gates  a  pest, 

—  Gold  and  a  Babylonish  vest ; 

Not  hid  in  shame-concealing  shade, 

But  broad  against  the  Sun  display'd. 

These, —  tell  it  not, —  it  must  be  told  ; 

These  from  thy  Lottery  Wheels  are  sold ; 

Sold, —  and  thy  children,  train'd  to  sin, 

Hazard  both  worlds  these  plagues  to  win  : 

Nay,  thy  deluded  statesmen  stake 

Thyself, —  and  lose  Thee  for  their  sake  ! 

—Lose  Thee?— They  shall  not;— HE,  whose  will 

Is  Nature's  law,  preserves  Thee  still  ; 

And  while  the'  uplifted  bolt  impends, 

One  warning  more  His  mercy  sends. 

0  Britain*  !  0  my  country  !  bring 
Forth  from  thy  camp  the'  accursed  thing; 
Consign  it  to  remorseless  fire  ; 
Watch  till  the  latest  spark  expire, 
Then  cast  the  ashes  on  the  wind, 
Nor  leave  one  atom-wreck  behind. 

So  may  thy  wealth  and  power  increase ; 
So  may  thy  people  dwell  in  peace ; 
On  Thee  the'  Almighty's  glory  rest, 
And  all  the  world  in  Thee  be  blest. 

Sheffield,  Oct.  10, 1S16. 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


INTRODUCTION. 

In  the  summer  of  1807,  a  local  association  for 
the  purpose  of  "  superseding  the  employment  of 
Climbing  Boys  in  sweeping  chimneys,  and  bettering 
the  condition  of  those  who  were  already  so  en- 
gaged," was  established  in  Sheffield.  Through 
three-and-thirty  years  that  object  had  been  kept  in 
view,  though  many  and  long  interruptions  have 
crippled  or  retarded  our  active  exertions  toward? 
the  desired  accomplishment.     But  our  interest   in 


the  subject,  and  our  sympathy  towards  the  infantine 
and  juvenile  victims  of  so  unnatural  a  practice,  have 
been  periodically  quickened,  on  every  return  of 
Easter  Monday,  when  a  good  dinner  has  been  given 
by  our  small  Committee  to  all  the  Climbing  Chil- 
dren of  this  district.  The  change,— which  this 
attention  to  their  welfare  has  gradually  occasioned 
in  the  personal  appearance,  decent  behaviour,  and 
improved  intelligence  (most  of  them  having  been 
Sunday-scholars)  of  the  successive  generations  of 
these  poor  creatures,  which  have  passed  before  us 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


197 


during  that  period,— has  been  very  creditable  to 
their  Masters,  and  very  encouraging  to  ourselves 
under  the  disheartening  hinderanees  to  our  progress, 
in  attempting  otherwise  to  lessen  the  evils  of  the 
occupation  in  our  own  neighbourhood,  and  the  re- 
peated failures  of  our  endeavours  to  obtain  legislative 
redress  for  the  grievance  itself  throughout  the  whole 
kingdom. 

The  experience  of  ten  years  convinced  us,  that 
all  efforts  as  well  as  plans  materially  and  permanently 
to  benefit  this  class  of  boys  must  be  unavailing, 
because,  so  long  as  the  employment  was  authorised 
by  the  legislature,  it  would  never  be  superseded  by 
the  introduction  of  mechanical  apparatus;— it  being 
the  interest,  or  rather  the  practice,  of  the  masters 
as  much  as  possible  to  disgust  their  customers,  by 
wilfully  negligent,  or  slovenly  mismanagement  of 
such  substitutes  when  required  to  use  them.  This 
repugnance  arose  principally  from  a  desire  to  spare 
themselves,  and  lay  upon  their  apprentices  (who 
were  often  their  own  children)  the  labour  and  tor- 
ture of  a  villanous  trade,  which  cannot  be  taught 
without  cruelty,  learnt  without  suffering,  or  prac- 
tised without  peril  to  life  and  limb?  under  the  most 
humane  master,  and  by  the  most  obedient  scholar. 
This  fact  is  the  unanswerable  objection  to  the  whole 
system, — it  cannot  bo  mended,  though  its  inevitable 
miseries  may  be,  and  are,  in  numberless  instances, 
frightfully  aggravated. 

AVherefore,  in  March,  1817,  we  roused  our  towns- 
people to  set  the  first  example  of  moving  the  legis- 
lature against  this  sin  of  the  nation.  A  public 
meeting  was  accordingly  held,  and  a  petition  adopt- 
ed, earnestly  imploring  the  House  of  Commons,  to 
whom  it  was  primarily  addressed,  to  take  the  subject 
into  early  and  serious  consideration.  This  was  pre- 
sented by  Lord  Milton  (now  Earl  Fitzwilliam),  one 
of  the  representatives  for  Yorkshire,  with  a  view 
merely  of  its  being  received  and  laid  upon  the  table; 
for  no  expectation  was  entertained  of  any  immediate 
steps  being  taken  upon  it  by  those  to  whom  we  ap- 
1.  Though  temperately  worded,  and  supported 
only  by  a  few  frank  and  plain  expressions  of  his 
own  kind  disposition  towards  the  suffering  chil- 
dren, the  reading  of  this  document  produced  so 
happy  an  impression  upon  the  minds  of  the  members 
present,  that  his  Lordship,  availing  himself  of  the 
propitious  omen,  immediately  moved  for  the  ap- 
pointment of  a  Committee  to  investigate  the  subject 
and  report  on  the  same.     Meanwhile  similar  peti- 


tions coming  in  from  other  quarters,  and  the  result 
of  the  Committee's  inquiries  proving  highly  satisfac- 
tory,—  the  Metropolitan  Society  (instituted  in  1803, 
for  the  same  benevolent  purposes  as  ours  at  a  later 
period,)  using  their  utmost  zeal  and  diligence  to 
promote  the  object, —  on  the  25th  of  June  following 
a  Bill  was  brought  into  the  House  of  Commons,  for 
prohibiting  the  employment  of  Climbing  Boys  in 
sweeping  chimneys,  from  as  brief  a  prospective  date 
as  should  be  found  practicable  under  existing  cir- 
cumstances. Certain  technical  difficulties,  however, 
respecting  the  nature  of  the  Bill,  and  the  probability 
of  Parliament  being  prorogued  before  an  Act  could 
be  passed,  caused  the  postponement  of  further  pro- 
ceedings till  the  next  Session. 

In  the  following  year,  1818,  the  Bill  was  revived, 
carried  triumphantly  through  the  Commons,  sent 
up  to  the  Lords,  read,  committed,  counsel  heard, 
evidence  examined,  favourably  reported,  but  with- 
drawn before  the  third  reading,  to  give  to  the 
government  surveyors,  and  other  professional  gen- 
tlemen, opportunity  to  make  certain  experiments  and 
estimates,  recommended  by  their  Lordships'  Com- 
mittee, previous  to  their  ultimate  decision  on  the 
merits  of  the  case. 

In  the  third  year,  1819,  the  Bill  was  again  intro- 
duced in  the  House  of  Peers,  when,  after  some  very 
strange  discussion,  it  was  summarily  thrown  out. 
Two  causes,  exceedingly  dissimilar,  concurred  to 
effect  this  catastrophe :  namely,  certain  grave 
doubts,  expressed  by  high  legal  authority,  whether, 
in  making  laws,  more  tenderness  were  due  to  old 
chimneys,  or  to  young  children  ;  —  the  former  being 
inveterately  crooked  and  therefore  incurable,  whereas 
(though  this  was  left  to  be  inferred)  the  latter  (the 
children)  might  easily  be  made  crooked,  by  accom- 
modating their  pliable  bodies  to  the  perverse  ways 
through  which  they  followed  their  craft.  The 
second  stumbling-block,  on  which  indeed  the  neck 
of  the  Bill  was  broken,  deserves  more  distinct  ex- 
posure. A  noble  Earl,  who  resisted  the  Bill  less  by 
argument  than  by  banter,  among  other  illustra- 
tions of  the  calamities  which  would  befall  the 
nation  if  the  use  of  Climbing  Boys  were  abolished, 
is  reported  to  have  said: — "I  might  illustrate  the 
confined  humanity  of  the  supporters  of  this  measure, 
by  repeating  a  story,  commonly  told  in  Ireland.  It 
was  usual  in  that  country  to  sweep  chimneys  by 
tying  a  string  to  the  leg  of  a  goose,  and  dragging 
the    unfortunate    bird   down   the    chimney.     This 


198 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


practice  was  reprobated  by  many  humane  persons, 
•who  looked  upon  the  goose  as  very  ill  treated;  but 
an  honest  Irishman  having  asked  what  he  should 
use  instead  of  the  goose,  one  of  the  humane  gentle- 
men replied,  '  Why  do  n't  you  get  a  couple  of  ducks  t ' 
—  Such  was  the  humanity  that  dictated  this  mea- 
sure, which,  dwelling  on  the  sufferings  of  the 
Climbing  Boys,  forgot  every  care  for  the  safety  of 
society,  which,  considering  the  few  children  em- 
ployed in  sweeping  chimneys,  threw  out  of  its  pro- 
tection the  many  children  who  should  be  exposed 
to  the  hazards  of  fire,  and  to  be  tossed  out  of 
windows." 

This  pleasant  sally  put  their  Lordships  into  such 
good  humour,  that,  to  borrow  a  couple  of  the  noble 
Earl's  phrases,  the  Bill  was  either  "tossed  out  of 
the  window,"  or  "exposed  to  the  hazard  of  fire," 
for  aught  that  I  could  ever  learn  of  its  fate. 

The  report  of  the  foregoing  debate  and  decision 
in  the  House  of  Peers  was  published  in  my  news- 
paper of  March  23,  1819.  Under  the  date  of 
April  the  13th  following,  I  find  this  paragraph, 
written  by  myself,  and  for  the  authenticity  of  which 
I  can  as  conscientiously  vouch,  as  his  Lordship 
could  for  the  truth  of  "a  story  commonly  told  in 
Ireland :" — 

"Yesterday  (being  Easter  Monday),  at  the 
Cutlers'  Hall,  in  this  town,  the  Committee  for  abo- 
lishing the  use  of  Climbing  Boys,  and  bettering  the 
condition  of  Chimney  Sweepers'  Apprentices,  gave 
their  annual  dinner  to  the  children  employed  in  that 
business  here.  Twenty-two  were  present;  and 
though  the  lads  of  this  town  and  neighbourhood 
fare  as  well,  if  not  better  than  others  in  the  like 
situation  elsewhere,  their  friends  here  are  more  and 
more  convinced,  from  experience,  observation,  and 
reflection  during  twelve  years  past,  that  the  practice 
of  employing  Climbing  Boys  to  sweep  chimneys  is 
a  national  crime  as  well  as  a  national  disgrace,  and 
ought  to  be  prohibited. 

"A  boy,  about  thirteen  years  of  age,  who  attended 
the  dinner  at  the  Cutlers'  Hall  on  last  Easter 
Monday,  lately  came  to  a  shocking  and  premature 
end,  in  the  following  manner,  as  we  were,  on  this 
occasion,  informed  by  his  companions.  Their 
master  being  asleep  in  a  public-house,  at  a  village 
in  Derbyshire,  his  two  apprentices,  who  had  been 
sweeping   in  the   neighbourhood,  were  left  with  a 


company  of  fellows  who  were  drinking  together, 
and  became  the  butts  of  their  brutal  conversation. 
Among  other  things,  it  was  wantonly  proposed  to 
the  younger  apprentice  to  go  up  the  chimney  of  the 
room  in  which  they  were  sitting,  while  there  was  a 
fire  in  the  range.  He  refused;  but  the  elder, 
tempted  by  a  promise  of  sixpence,  ventured,  and 
was  helped  up  into  the  flue.  Before  he  reached  the 
top,  however,  the  soot  fell  down  in  such  quantities 
upon  the  fire  below,  that  the  chimney  was  soon  in 
a  blaze,  and  the  poor  boy  struggled  to  the  bottom 
through  the  flames,  and  was  dragged  out  by  the 
legs  before  he  came  direct  upon  the  live  coals  in 
the  grate.  He  was  so  miserably  scorched,  that  he 
died,  after  lingering  three  weeks  in  excruciating 
torture." 

I  need  not  further  pursue  the  history  of  parlia- 
mentary proceedings  on  this  subject,  in  which  my 
friends  and  I  bore  our  part  from  time  to  time,  till, 
during  the  last  Session,  an  Act  for  the  total  discon- 
tinuance of  the  evil  practice  passed  both  Houses, 
almost  without  a  murmur  of  opposition,  under  the 
direct  sanction  of  Her  Majesty's  Government. 

Among  other  "intervening  means  for  eventually 
bringing  to  pass  this  great  purpose,  Mr.  Roberts 
projected  the  publication  of  a  volume,  to  be  entitled 
"The  Chimney  Sweepers'  Friend,  and  Climbing 
Boys'  Album,"  of  which  he  persuaded  me  to  under- 
take the  editorship.  The  first  part  of  the  work, 
when  completed,  contained,  in  various  forms,  a 
summary  of  such  information  on  the  general  ques- 
tion as  we  had  been  enabled  to  collect,  during 
seventeen  years  from  the  commencement  of  our 
labours  and  inquiries.  The  second  part  consisted 
of  essays  and  tales,  in  prose  and  verse,  illustrative 
of  the  unpitied  and  unalleviated  sufferings  of  chil- 
dren, under  this  unnatural  bondage,  through  more 
than  a  century  since  its  introduction.  These  were 
chiefly  furnished,  at  my  solicitation,  by  living 
authors  of  distinction.  The  volume  was  dedicated, 
by  permission,  to  His  Majesty  George  IV.;  and 
being  soon  out  of  print,  a  new  edition  was  issued 
at  York,  by  a  benevolent  bookseller,  and  sold 
extensively  through  the  northern  provinces. 

The   following   small   pieces  were  my  quota  of 
contributions  to  this  work. 
October  22, 1810. 


THE 


CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES, 


PROLOGUE.- 

A   WORD   WITH   MYSELF. 

I  know  they  scorn  the  Climbing  Boy, 
The  gay,  the  selfish,  and  the  proud; 

I  know  his  villanous  employ 

Is  mockery  with  the  thoughtless  crowd. 

So  be  it ;  —  brand  with  every  name 

Of  burning  infamy  his  art, 
But  let  his  country  bear  the  shame, 

And  feel  the  iron  at  her  heart. 

I  cannot  coldly  pass  him  by, 

Stript,  wounded,  left  by  thieves  half  dead; 
Nor  see  an  infant  Lazarus  lie 

At  rich  men's  gates,  imploring  bread. 

A  frame  as  sensitive  as  mine, 

Limbs  moulded  in  a  kindred  form, 

A  soul  degraded,  yet  divine, 

Endear  me  to  my  brother-worm. 

He  was  my  equal  at  his  birth, 

A  naked,  helpless,  weeping  child ; 

—  And  such  are  born  to  thrones  on  earth, 
On  such  hath  every  mother  smiled. 

My  equal  he  will  be  again, 

Down  in  that  cold  oblivious  gloom, 

Where  all  the  prostrate  ranks  of  men 
Crowd,  without  fellowship,  the  tomb. 

My  equal  in  the  judgment-day, 

He  shall  stand  up  before  the  throne, 

When  every  veil  is  rent  away, 
And  good  and  evil  only  known. 

And  is  he  not  mine  equal  now  ? 

Am  I  less  fall'n  from  God  and  truth, 
Though  "  Wretch  "  be  written  on  his  brow, 

And  leprosy  consume  his  youth  ? 


If  holy  Nature  yet  have  laws 

Binding  on  man,  of  woman  born, 

In  her  own  court  I'll  plead  his  cause, 
Arrest  the  doom,  or  share  the  scorn. 

Yes,  let  the  scorn  that  haunts  his  course 

Turn  on  me  like  a  trodden  snake, 
And  hiss  and  sting  me  with  remorse, 

If  I  the  fatherless  forsake. 
Sheffield,  Feb.  28, 1824. 


No.  I. 
THE     COMPLAINT. 

Wno  loves  the  climbing  boy?     Who  cares 

If  well  or  ill  I  be  ? 
Is  there  a  living  soul  that  shares 

A  thought  or  wish  with  me  ? 

I've  had  no  parents  since  my  birth, 

Brothers  and  sisters  none, 
Ah  !  what  to  me  is  all  this  earth, 

Where  I  am  only  one  ? 

I  wake  and  see  the  morning  shine, 

And  all  around  me  gay ; 
But  nothing  I  behold  is  mine, 

No,  not  the  light  of  day;  — 

No,  not  the  very  breath  I  draw  ; 

These  limbs  are  not  my  own  ; 
A  master  calls  me  his  by  law, — 

My  griefs  are  mine  alone  : 

Ah  !  these  they  could  not  make  him  feel  — 
Would  they  themselves  had  felt 

Who  bound  me  to  that  man  of  steel, 
Whom  mercy  cannot  melt ! 

Yet  not  for  wealth  or  ease  I  sigh, 

All  are  not  rich  and  great; 
Many  may  be  as  poor  as  I, 

But  none  so  desolate. 

For  all  I  know  have  kin  and  kind, 
Some  home,  some  hope,  some  joy; 

But  these  I  must  not  look  to  find  — 
Who  knows  the  climbing  boy? 


200 


TIIK  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


The  world  has  not  a  place  of  rest 

For  outcast  so  forlorn  ; 
'T  was  all  bespoken,  all  possest, 

Long  before  I  was  born. 

Affection,  too,  life's  sweetest  cup, 
-  round  from  band  to  hand; 
But  I  am  never  ask'd  to  sup  — 
Out  of  the  ring  I  stand. 

If  kindness  beats  within  my  heart, 
What  heart  will  beat  again? 

I  coax  the  dogs,  they  snarl  and  start ; 
Brutes  are  as  bad  as  men. 

The  beggar's  child  may  rise  above 

The  misery  of  his  lot: 
The  gipsy  may  be  loved,  and  love ; 

Liit  I  —  but  I  must  not. 

Hard  fare,  cold  lodgings,  cruel  toil, 
Youth,  health,  and  strength  consume  : 

What  tree  could  thrive  in  such  a  soil? 
What  flower  so  scathed  could  bloom  ? 

Should  I  outgrow  this  crippling  work, 
How  shall  my  bread  be  sought? 

Must  I  to  other  lads  turn  Turk, 
And  teach  what  I  am  taught? 

0,  might  I  roam  with  flocks  and  herds 

In  fellowship  along  ! 
0,  were  I  one  among  the  birds, 

All  wing,  and  life,  and  song! 

Free  with  the  fishes  might  I  dwell 

Down  iu  the  quiet  sea  ! 
The  snail  in  his  cob-castle  shell  — 

The  snail 's  a  king  to  me  ! 

For  out  he  glides  in  April  showers, 
Lies  snug  when  storms  prevail  ; 

He  leeds  on  fruit,  he  sleeps  on  flowers  — 
I  wish  I  was  a  snail ! 

No,  never  !  do  the  worst  they  can, 
I  may  be  happy  still ; 

I  was  born  to  be  a  man, 
\ii'l  if  I  live  I  will! 


No.  II. 


THE    DUE  AM. 


I  diieamt  ;  but  what  care  I  for  dreams  ? 

And  yet  I  tremble  too; 
It  look'd  so  like  the  truth,  it  seems 

As  if  it  would  come  true. 

I  dreamt  that,  long  ere  peep  of  day, 

I  left  my  cold  straw  bed, 
And  o'er  a  common  far  away, 

As  if  I  flew,  I  fled. 

The  tempest  hurried  me  behind 

Like  a  mill-stream  along; 
I  could  have  lean'd  against  the  wind, 

It  was  so  deadly  strong. 

The  snow  —  I  never  saw  such  snow  — 

Raged  like  the  sea  all  round, 
Tossing  and  tumbling  to  and  fro; 

I  thought  I  must  be  drown'd. 

Now  up,  now  down,  with  main  and  might 
I  plunged  through  drift  and  stour; 

Nothing,  no  nothing  baulk'd  my  flight, 
I  had  a  giant's  power. 

Till  suddenly  the  storm  stood  still, 

Flat  lay  the  snow  beneath  ; 
I  curdled  to  an  icicle, 

I  could  not  stir  —  not  breathe. 

My  master  found  me  rooted  there ; 

He  flogg'd  me  back  to  sense, 
Then  pluek'd  me  up,  and  by  the  hair, 

Sheer  over  ditch  and  fence, — 

He  dragg'd,  and  dragg'd,  and  dragg'd  me  on, 

For  many  and  many  a  mile; 
At  a  grand  house  he  stopp'd  anon ;  — 

It  was  a  famous  pile : 

L"p  to  the  moon  it  seem'd  to  rise, 

Broad  as  the  earth  to  stand  ; 
The  building  darken'd  half  the  skies, 

Its  shadow  half  the  land. 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


201 


All  round  was  still  —  as  still  as  death  : 

I  shivering,  chattering,  stood; 
And  felt  the  coining,  going  hreath, 

The  tingling,  freezing  blood. 

Soon,  at  my  master's  rap,  rap,  rap, 

The  door  wide  open  flew ; 
In  went  we ;  —  with  a  thunder- clap 

Again  the  door  bang'd  to. 

I  trembled,  as  I've  felt  a  bird 

Tremble  within  my  fist; 
For  none  I  saw,  and  none  I  heard, 

But  all  was  lone  and  whist. 

The  moonshine  through  the  windows  show'd 
Long  stripes  of  light  and  gloom  ; 

The  carpet  with  all  colours  glow'd, 
Stone  men  stood  round  the  room  : 

Fair  pictures  in  their  golden  frames, 

And  looking-glasses  bright; 
Fine  things,  I  cannot  tell  their  names, 

Dazed  and  bewitch'd  me  quite. 

Master  soon  thwack'd  them  out  my  head  — 

The  chimney  must  be  swept ! 
Yet  in  the  grate  the  coals  were  red ; 

I  stamp'd,  and  seream'd,  and  wept. 

I  kneel'd,  I  kiss'd  his  feet,  I  pray'd  : 
For  then  —  which  shows  I  dreamt  — 

Methought  I  ne'er  before  had  made 
The  terrible  attempt. 

But,  as  the  butcher  lifts  the  lamb 

That  struggles  for  its  life, 
(Far  from  the  ramping,  bleating  dam,) 

Beneath  his  desperate  knife  ; 

With  his  two  iron  hands  he  grasp'd 

And  hoisted  me  aloof; 
His  naked  neck  in  vain  I  clasp'd, 

The  man  was  pity-proof. 

So  forth  he  swung  me  through  the  space, 

Above  the  smouldering  fire  ; 
I  never  can  forget  his  face; 

Nor  his  gruff  growl,  "  Go  higher !" 


As  if  I  climb'd  a  steep  house-side, 

Or  scaled  a  dark  draw-well, 
The  horrid  opening  was  so  wide, 

I  had  no  hold, —  I  fell : 

Fell  on  the  embers,  all  my  length, 

But  scarcely  felt  their  heat, 
When,  with  a  madman's  rage  and  strength, 

I  started  on  my  feet; 

And,  ere  I  well  knew  what  I  did, 

Had  clear'd  the  broader  vent ; 
From  his  wild  vengeance  to  be  hid, 

I  cared  not  where  I  went. 

The  passage  narrow'd  as  I  drew 

Limb  after  limb  by  force, 
Working  and  worming,  like  a  screw, 

My  hard,  slow,  up-hill  course. 

Rougher  than  harrow-teeth  within, 

Sharp  lime  and  jagged  stone 
Stripp'd  my  few  garments,  gored  the  skin, 

And  grided  to  the  bone. 

Gall'd,  wounded,  bleeding,  ill  at  ease, 

Still  I  was  stout  at  heart; 
Head,  shoulders,  elbows,  hands,  feet,  knees, 

All  play'd  a  stirring  part. 

I  climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  climb'd  in  vain, 

No  light  at  top  appear'd ; 
No  end  to  darkness,  toil,  and  pain, 

While  worse  and  worse  I  fear'd. 

I  climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  had  to  climb, 

Yet  more  and  more  astray; 
A  hundred  years  I  thought  the  time, 

A  thousand  miles  the  way. 

Strength  left  me,  and  breath  fail'd  at  last, 

Then  had  I  headlong  dropp'd, 
But  the  strait  funnel  wedged  me  fast, 

So  there  dead-lock'd  I  stopp'd. 

I  groan'd,  I  gasp'd,  to  shriek  I  tried, 
No  sound  came  from  my  breast; 

There  was  a  weight  on  every  side, 
As  if  a  stone-delf  press'd. 


202                                               THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 

Yet  still  my  brain  kept  beating  on 

The  fire  was  quickly  quench'd  beneath, 

Through  night-mares  of  all  shapes, 

Blue  light  above  me  glanced, 

Foul  fiends,  no  sooner  come  than  gone, 

And  air,  sweet  air,  I  'gan  to  breathe, 

Dragons,  and  wolves,  and  apes. 

The  blood  within  me  danced. 

They  gnash'd  on  me  with  bloody  jaws, 

I  climb'd,  and  climb'd,  and  climb'd  away, 

Chatter'd,  and  howl'd,  and  hiss'd; 

Till  on  the  top  I  stood, 

They  elutch'd  me  with  their  eat-like  claws, 

And  saw  the  glorious  dawn  of  day 

While  off  they  whirl'd  in  mist. 

Come  down  on  field  and  flood. 

Till,  like  a  lamp -flame,  blown  away, 

Oh  me  !  a  moment  of  such  joy 

My  soul  went  out  in  gloom ; 

I  never  knew  before; 

Thought  ceased,  and  dead-alive  I  lay, 

Right  happy  was  the  climbing-boy, 

Shut  up  in  that  black  tomb. 

One  moment, —  but  no  more. 

0,  sweetly  on  the  mother's  lap 

Sick,  sick,  I  turn'd,  the  world  ran  round, 

Her  pretty  baby  lies, 

The  stone  I  stood  on  broke, 

And  breathes  so  freely  in  his  nap, 

And  plumb  I  toppled  to  the  ground; 

She  can't  take  off  her  eyes. 

—  Like  a  scared  owl,  I  woke. 

Ah  !  thinks  she  then, — ah,  thinks  she  not!  — 

I  woke,  but  slept  again,  and  dream'd 

How  soon  the  time  may  be 

The  self-same  things  anew  : 

When  all  her  love  will  be  forgot, 

The  storm,  the  snow,  the  building  seem'd 

And  he  a  wretch  like  me? 

All  true,  as  daylight's  true. 

She  in  her  grave  at  rest  may  lie, 

But,  when  I  tumbled  from  the  top, 

And  daisies  speck  the  sod, 

The  world  itself  had  flown  ; 

Nor  see  him  bleed,  nor  hear  him  cry, 

There  was  no  ground  on  which  to  drop, 

Beneath  a  ruffian's  rod. 

'T  was  emptiness  alone. 

Xo  mother's  lap  was  then  my  bed, 

On  winter  nights  I've  seen  a  star 

O'er  me  no  mother  smiled  ; 

Leap  headlong  from  the  sky  ; 

Xo  mother's  arm  went  round  my  head, 

I've  wateh'd  the  lightning  from  afar 

—  Am  I  no  mother's  child? 

Flash  out  of  heaven  and  die. 

Life,  on  a  sudden,  ran  me  through, 

So, — but  in  darkness, —  so  I  fell 

Light,  light,  all  round  me  blazed, 

Through  nothing  to  no  place, 

Red  flames  rush'd  roaring  up  the  flue, — 

Until  I  saw  the  flames  of  hell 

Flames  by  my  master  raised. 

Shoot  upward  to  my  face. 

I  heard  his  voice,  and  ten-fold  might 

Down,  down,  as  with  a  mill-stone  weight, 

Bolted  through  every  limb; 

I  plunged  right  through  their  smoke : 

I  saw  bis  face,  and  shot  upright ; 

To  cry  for  mercy  'twas  too  late, — 

Brick  walls  made  way  from  him. 

They  seized  me, —  I  awoke: 

Swift  as  a  squirrel  seeks  the  bough 

'Woke,  slept,  and  dream'd  the  like  again, 

Where  he  may  turn  and  look 

The  third  time,  through  and  through, 

Down  on  the  school-boy,  chop-fallen  now, 

Except  the  winding  up;  —  ah!  then 

My  ready  flight  I  took. 

I  wish  it  had  been  true. 

THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES.                                          203 

For  when  I  clinib'd  into  the  air, 

'T  was  strange,  because  where  I  had  been, 

Spring-breezes  flapp'd  me  round  ; 

The  better  people  cared  no  more 

Green  hill;,  and  dale?,  and  woods  were  there, 

For  such  as  me,  than  had  they  seen 

And  May-flowers  on  the  ground. 

A  young  crab  crawling  on  their  shore. 

The  moon  was  waning  in  the  west, 
The  clouds  were  golden  red  ; 

The  lark,  a  mile  above  his  nest, 
Was  cheering  o'er  my  head. 

Well,  Easter  came ;  —  in  all  the  land 
Was  e'er  a  'prentice-lad  so  fine  ! 

A  bran-new  suit  at  second-hand, 

Cap,  shoes,  and  stockings,  all  were  mine. 

The  stars  had  vanish'd,  all  but  one, 

The  darling  of  the  sky, 

The  coat  was  green,  the  waistcoat  red, 

That  glitter'd  like  a  tiny  sun, 

The  breeches  leather,  white  and  clean  ; 

No  bigger  than  my  eye. 

I  thought  I  must  go  off  my  head, 

I  could  have  jump'd  out  of  my  skin. 

I  look'd  at  this, — -I  thought  it  smiled, 

Which  made  me  feel  so  glad, 

All  Sunday  through  the  streets  I  stroll'd, 

That  I  became  another  child, 

Fierce  as  a  turkey-cock,  to  see 

And  not  the  elimbing  lad : 

How  all  the  people,  young  and  old, — 

A  child  as  fair  as  you  may  see, 

At  least  I  thought  so, —  look'd  at  me. 

Whom  soot  has  never  soil'd; 
As  rosy-check'd  as  I  might  be, 
If  I  had  not  been  spoil'd. 

At  night  upon  my  truss  of  straw, 

Those  gaudy  clothes  hung  round  the  room  ; 
By  moon-glimpse  oft  their  shapes  I  saw 

Wings,  of  themselves,  about  me  grew, 

Like  bits  of  rainbow  in  the  gloom. 

And,  free  as  morning-light, 

Up  to  that  single  star  I  flew 

Yet  scarce  I  heeded  them  at  all, 

So  beautiful  and  bright. 

Although  I  never  slept  a  wink  ; 

Through  the  blue  heaven  I  stretch'd  my  hand 
To  touch  its  beams, —  it  broke 

The  feast  next  day.  at  Cutlers'  Hall, 
Of  that  I  could  not  help  but  think. 

Like  a  sea-bubble  on  the  sand; 
Then  all  fell  dark. —  I  woke. 

Wearily  trail'd  the  night  away  ; 

Between  the  watchman  and  the  clock, 

I  thought  it  never  would  be  day  ; 
At  length  out  crew  the  earliest  cock. 

No.  III. 

A  second  answer'd,  then  a  third, 

EASTER-MON'DAY    AT    SHEFFIELD.1 

At  a  long  distance, —  one,  two,  three, — 

Yes,  there  are  some  that  think  of  me ; 
The  blessing  on  their  heads  !  I  say; 

A  dozen  more  in  turn  were  heard  ; 
—  I  crew  among  the  rest  for  glee. 

May  all  their  lives  as  happy  be 

As  mine  has  been  with  them  to-day ! 

Up  gat  we,  I  and  little  Bill, 
And  donn'd  our  newest  and  our  best; 

When  I  was  sold,  from  Lincolnshire 

Nay,  let  the  proud  say  what  they  will, 

To  this  good  town,  I  heard  a  noise, 

As  grand  as  fiddlers  we  were  drest. 

What  merry-making  would  be  here 

At  easter-tide  for  climbing  boys. 

We  left  our  litter  in  the  nook, 

And  wash'd  ourselves  as  white  as  snow ; 
On  brush  and  bag  we  scorn'd  to  look, 

'  There  are  some  local  allusions  in  this  part,  sufficiently 

intelligible  on  the  spot,  but  not  worth  explaining  here. 

—  Tt  was  a  holiday,  you  know. 

204 


THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 


What  ail'd  me  then  I  could  not  tell, 
I  yawn'd  the  whole  forenoon  away, 

And  hearken'd  while  the  vicar's  bell 

Went  ding  dong,  ding  dong,  pay,  pay,  pay  ! 

The  clock  struck  twelve  —  I  love  the  twelves 
Of  all  the  hours  'twixt  sun  and  moon; 

For  then  poor  lads  enjoy  themselves, — 
We  sleep  at  midnight,  rest  at  noon. 

This  noon  was  not  a  resting  time  ! 

At  the  first  stroke  we  started  all, 
And,  while  the  tune  rang  through  the  chime, 
Muster'd,  like  soldiers,  at  the  hall. 

Xot  much  like  soldiers  in  our  gait; 

Yet  never  soldier,  in  his  life, 
Tried,  as  he  march'd,  to  look  more  straight 

Than  Bill  and  I,—  to  drum  and  fife. 

But  now  I  think  on  't,  what  with  scars, 
Lank  bony  limbs,  and  spavin'd  feet, 

Like  broken  soldiers  from  the  wars 

Wc  limp'd,  yet  strutted  through  the  street. 

Then,  while  our  meagre  motley  crew 
Came  from  all  quarters  of  the  town, 

Folks  to  their  doors  and  windows  flew : 
I  thought  the  world  turn'd  upside  down. 

For  now,  instead  of  oaths  and  jeers, 
The  sauce  that  I  have  found  elsewhere, 

Kind  words,  and  smiles,  and  hearty  cheers, 
Met  us, —  with  halfpence  here  and  there. 

The  mothers  held  their  babies  high, 
To  chuckle  at  our  hobbling  train, 

But  dipt  them  close  while  we  went  by; 
—  I  heard  their  kisses  fall  like  rain, — 

And  wiped  my  cheek,  that  never  felt 
The  sweetness  of  a  mother's  kiss  ; 

For  heart  and  eyes  began  to  melt, 
And  I  was  sad,  yet  pleased,  with  this. 

At  Cutlers'  Hall  we  found  the  crowd, 
That  shout  the  gentry  to  their  feast ; 

They  made  us  way,  and  bawl'd  so  loud, 
We  might  have  been  vounr'  lords  at  least. 


We  enter'd,  twenty  lads  and  more, 

While  gentlemen,  and  ladies  too, 
All  bade  us  welcome  at  the  door, 

And  kindly  ask'd  us,  "  How  d'ye  do  ?" 

"  Bravely,"  I  answered,  but  my  eye 

Prickled,  and  leak'd,  and  twinkled  still ; 
I  long'd  to  be  alone,  to  cr3T, 

—  To  be  alone,  and  cry  my  fill. 

Our  other  lads  were  blithe  and  bold, 
And  nestling,  nodding  as  they  sat, 

Till  dinner  came,  their  tales  they  told, 
And  talk'd  of  this,  and  laugh'd  at  that. 

I  pluek'd  up  courage,  gaped,  and  gazed 
On  the  fine  room,  fine  folks,  fine  things, 

Chairs,  tables,  knives,  and  forks,  amazed, 
With  pots  and  platters  fit  for  kings. 

Roast-beef,  plum-pudding,  and  what  not, 
Soon  smoked  before  us, —  such  a  size, 

Giants  their  dinners  might  have  got; 
We  open'd  all  our  mouths  and  eyes. 

Anon,  upon  the  board,  a  stroke 

Warn'd  each  to  stand  up  in  his  place  ; 

One  of  our  generous  friends  then  spoke 
Three  or  four  words  —  they  eall'd  it  Grace. 

I  think  he  said  —  "  God  bless  our  food  !  " 

—  Oft  had  I  heard  that  name,  in  tones 
Which  ran  like  ice,  cold  through  my  blood, 

And  made  the  flesh  creep  on  my  bones  : 

But  now,  and  with  a  power  so  sweet, 

The  name  of  Gon  went  through  my  heart, 

That  my  lips  trembled  to  repeat 

Those  words,  and  tears  were  fain  to  start. 

Tears,  words,  were  in  a  twinklo  gone, 

Like  sparrows  whirling  through  the  street, 

When,  at  a  sign,  we  all  fell  on, 
As  geese  in  stubble,  to  our  meat. 

The  large  plum-puddings  first  were  carved, 
And  well  we  younkers  plied  them  o'er; 

You  would  have  thought  wc  had  been  starved, 
Or  mere  to  be, —  a  month  and  more. 


1 

THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES.                                               205 

Next  the  roast  beef  flew  reeking  round 

Now  I  bad  time,  if  not  before, 

In  glorious  slices,  mark  ye  that ! 

To  take  a  peep  at  every  lad; 

The  dishes  were  with  gravy  drown'd : 

I  counted  them  to  twenty-four, 

A  sight  to  make  a  weasel  fat. 

Each  in  his  Easter-finery  clad  : 

A  great  meat-pie,  a  good  meat-pie, 

All  wash'd  and  clean  as  clean  could  be, — 

Baked  in  a  cradle-length  of  tin, 

And  yet  so  dingy,  marr'd,  and  grim, 

Was  open'd,  emptied,  scoop'd  so  dry. 

A  mole  with  half  an  eye  might  see 

You  might  hare  seen  your  face  within. 

Our  craft  in  every  look  and  limb. 

The  ladies  and  the  gentlemen 

All  shapes  but  straight  ones  you  might  find, 

Took  here  and  there  with  us  a  seat; 

As  sapling-firs  on  the  high  moors, 

They  might  be  hungry,  too, —  but  then 

Black,  stunted,  crook'd,  through  which  the  wind, 

We  gave  them  little  time  to  eat. 

Like  a  wild  bull,  all  winter  roars. 

Their  arms  were  busy  helping  us, 

Two  toddling  five-year  olds  were  there, 

Like  cobblers'  elbows  at  their  work, 

Twins,  that  had  just  begun  to  climb, 

Or  see-saw,  see-saw,  thus  and  thus  ; 

With  cherry-cheeks,  and  curly  hair, 

A  merry  game  at  knife  and  fork. 

And  skins  not  yet  engrain'd  with  grime. 

0,  then  the  din,  the  deafening  din, 

I  wish'd,  I  did,  that  they  might  die, 

Of  plates,  cans,  crockery,  spoons,  and  knives, 

Like  "  Babes  i'  th'  Wood,"  the  little  slaves. 

And  waiters  running  out  and  in  : 

And  "Robin-redbreast"  painfully 

We  might  be  eating  for  our  lives. 

Hide  them  "with  leaves,"  for  want  of  graves; 

Such  feasting  I  had  never  seen, 

Rather  than  live  like  me,  and  weep 

So  presently  had  got  enough; 

To  think  that  ever  they  were  born  : 

The  rest,  like  fox-hounds,  staunch  and  keen, 

Toil  the  long  day,  and  from  short  sleep 

Were  made  of  more  devouring  stuff. 

Wake  to  fresh  miseries  every  morn. 

They  craram'd  like  cormorants  their  craws, 

Gay  as  young  gold-finches  in  spring, 

As  though  they  never  would  have  done  ; 

They  chirp'd  and  peck'd,  top-full  of  joy, 

It  was  a  feast  to  watch  their  jaws 

As  if  it  was  some  mighty  thing 

Grind,  and  grow  weary,  one  by  one. 

To  be  a  chimney-sweeper's  boy. 

But  there 's  an  end  to  every  thing ; 

And  so  it  is,  on  such  a  day, 

And  this  grand  dinner  pass'd  away  :  — 

As  welcome  Easter  brings  us  here, 

I  wonder  if  great  George  our  king 

— In  London,  too,  the  first  of  May, — 

lias  such  a  dinner  every  day? — ■ 

But  0,  what  is  it  all  the  year ! 

Grace  after  meat  again  was  said, 

Close  at  a  Quaker-lady's  side, 

And  my  good  feelings  sprang  anew ; 

Sate  a  young  girl;  —  I  know  not  how 

But  at  the  sight  of  gingerbread, 

I  felt  when  me  askance  she  eyed, 

Wine,  nuts,  and  oranges,  they  flew. 

And  a  quick  blush  flew  o'er  her  brow. 

So  while  we  took  a  turn  with  these, 

For  then,  just  then,  I  caught  a  face 

Almost  forgetting  we  had  dined; 

Fair,- — but  I  oft  had  seen  it  black, 

As  though  we  might  do  what  we  please, 

And  mark'd  the  owner's  tottering  pace 

We  loll'd,  and  joked,  and  told  our  mind. 

Beneath  a  vile  two-bushel  sack. 

206                                               THE  CLIMBING  BOY'S  SOLILOQUIES. 

0 !  had  I  known  it  was  a  lass, 

For  I'm  this  day  determined — not 

Could  I  have  scorn'd  her  with  her  load?  — 

With  bad  companions  to  grow  old, 

Next  time  we  meet,  she  shall  not  pass 

But,  weal  or  woe,  whate'cr  my  lot, 

AVithout  a  lift  along  the  road. 

To  mind  what  our  good  friends  have  told. 

Her  mother — mother  but  in  name  !  — 

They  told  us  things  I  never  knew 

Brought  her  to-day  to  dine  with  us : 

Of  Him  who  heaven  and  earth  did  make; 

Her  father, —  she's  his  'prentice:- — shame 

And  my  heart  felt  their  words  were  true, 

On  both,  to  use  their  daughter  thus ! 

It  burn'd  within  me  while  they  spake. 

Well,  /shall  grow,  and  she  will  grow 

Can  I  forget  that  God  is  love, 

Older, —  it  may  be  taller, —  yet; 

And  sent  his  Son  to  dwell  on  earth? 

And  if  she'll  smile  on  me,  I  know 

Or,  that  our  Saviour  from  above 

Poor  Poll  shall  be  poor  Reuben's  pet. 

Lay  in  a  manger  at  his  birth, — 

Time,  on  his  two  unequal  legs, 

Grew  up  in  humble  poverty, 

Kept  crawling  round  the  church-clock's  face; 

A  life  of  grief  and  sorrow  led  ? 

Though  none  could  see  him  shift  his  pegs, 

No  home  to  comfort  Him  had  He  ; 

Each  was  for  ever  changing  place. 

No,  not  a  place  to  lay  his  head. 

0,  why  are  pleasant  hours  so  short? 

Yet  He  was  merciful  and  kind, 

And  why  are  wretched  ones  so  long? 

Heal'd  with  a  touch  all  sorts  of  harms ; 

They  fly  like  swallows  while  we  sport, 

The  sick,  the  lame,  the  deaf,  the  blind; 

They  stand  like  mules  when  all  goes  wrong. 

And  took  young  children  in  his  arms. 

Before  we  parted,  one  kind  friend, 

Then  He  was  kill'd  by  wicked  men,            , 

And  then  another,  talk'd  so  free; 

And  buried  in  a  deep  stone  cave; 

They  went  from  table-end  to  end, 

But  of  Himself  He  rose  again, 

And  spoke  to  each,  and  spoke  to  me. 

On  Easter-Sunday,  from  the  grave. 

Books,  pretty  books,  with  pictures  in, 

Caught  up  in  clouds, —  at  God's  right  hand 

Were  given  to  those  who  learn  to  read, 

In  heaven  He  took  the  highest  place ; 

Which  show'd  them  how  to  flee  from  sin, 

There,  dying  Stephen  saw  Him  stand, — 

And  to  be  happy  boys  indeed. 

Stephen,  who  had  an  angel's  face. 

These  climbers  go  to  Sunday  schools, 

He  loves  the  poor,  He  alwa3rs  did  ; 

And  hear  what  things  to  do  or  shun, 

The  little  ones  are  still  his  care ; 

Get  good  advice,  and  golden  rules 

I'll  seek  Him, —  let  who  will  forbid, — 

For  all  their  lives, —  but  I'm  not  one. 

I'll  go  to  Him  this  night  in  prayer. 

Nathless  I'll  go  next  Sabbath  day 

0,  soundly,  soundly  should  I  sleep, 

Where  masters,  without  thrashing,  teach 

And  think  no  more  of  sufferings  past, 

Lost  children  how  to  read,  and  pray, 

If  God  would  only  bless,  and  keep, 

And  sing,  and  hear  the  parsons  preach. 

And  make  me  His, —  His  own,  at  last ! 

Sheffield,  March,  1884. 

SONGS    OF   ZION. 


207 


SONGS  or  zion; 

BEING 

3mitaitntts  nf  psalms. 


PREFACE. 

In  the  following  imitations  of  portions  of  the  true 
"Songs  of  Zion,"  the  Author  pretends  not  to  have 
succeeded  better  than  any  that  have  gone  before 
hirn ;  but,  having  followed  in  the  track  of  none,  he 
would  venture  to  hope,  that,  by  avoiding  the  rugged 
laterality  of  some,  and  the  diffusive  paraphrases  of 
others,  he  may,  in  a  few  instances,  have  approached 
nearer  than  either  of  them  have  generally  done  to 
the  ideal  model  of  what  devotional  poems,  in  a 
modern  tongue,  grounded  upon  the  subjects  of 
ancient  psalms,  yet  suited  for  Christian  edification, 
ought  to  be.  Beyond  this  he  dare  not  say  more  than 
that,  whatever  symptoms  of  feebleness  or  bad  taste 
may  be  betrayed  in  the  execution  of  these  pieces, 
he  offers  not  to  the  public  the  premature  fruits  of 
idleness  or  haste.  So  far  as  he  recollects,  he  has 
endeavoured  to  do  his  best,  and,  in  doing  so,  he  has 
never  hesitated  to  sacrifice  ambitious  ornament  to 
simplicity,  clearness,  and  force  of  thought  and  ex- 
pression. If,  in  the  event,  it  shall  be  found  that  he 
has  added  a  little  to  the  small  national  stock  of 
"psalms  and  hymns,  and  spiritual  songs,"  in  which 
piety  speaks  the  language  of  poetry,  and  poetry  the 
language  of  inspiration,  he  trusts  that  he  will  be 
humbly  contented  and  unfeignedly  thankful. 

Sheffield,  May  21, 1822. 


Several  compositions  of  the  same  kind  are  intro- 
duced here,  which  were  not  included  with  those 
formerly  published. 

Feb.  5, 1841. 


PSALM  I. 

Thrice  happy  he  who  shuns  the  way 
That  leads  ungodly  men  astray  ; 
Who  fears  to  stand  where  sinners  meet, 
Nor  with  the  scorner  takes  his  seat. 

The  law  of  God  is  his  delight; 

That  cloud  by  day,  that  fire  by  night, 

Shall  be  his  comfort  in  distress, 

And  guide  him  through  the  wilderness. 

His  works  shall  prosper; — he  shall  be 
A  fruitful,  fair,  unwithering  tree, 
That,  planted  where  the  river  flows, 
Nor  drought,  nor  frost,  nor  mildew,  knows. 

Not  so  the  wicked;  —  they  are  cast 
Like  chaff  upon  the  eddying  blast; 
In  judgment  they  shall  quake  for  dread, 
Nor  with  the  righteous  lift  their  head. 

For  God  hath  spied  their  secret  path, 
And  they  shall  perish  in  his  wrath ; 
He  too  hath  mark'd  his  people's  road, 
And  brings  them  to  his  own  abode. 


PSALM  III. 

The  Tempter  to  my  soul  hath  said, 
"  There  is  no  help  in  God  for  thee : " 

Lord  !  lift  thou  up  thy  servant's  head, 
My  glory,  shield,  and  solace  be.. 


208                                                               SONGS    OF   ZIOX. 

Thus  to  the  Lord  I  raised  my  cry; 

He  heard  me  from  his  holy  hill; 

PSALM  VIII. 

At  his  command  the  waves  roll'd  by; 

He  bcckon'd,  and  the  winds  were  still. 

0  Lord,  our  King  !  how  excellent 

Thy  name  on  earth  is  known  ! 

I  laid  me  down  and  slept;  —  I  woke; 
Thou,  Lord  !  my  spirit  didst  sustain  ; 

Thy  glory  in  the  firmament 

Bright  from  the  east  the  morning  broke, 

How  wonderfully  shown ! 

Tby  comforts  rose  on  me  again. 

Yet  are  the  humble  dear  to  Thee ; 

I  will  not  fear,  though  armed  throDgs 

Thy  praises  are  confest 

Compass  my  steps,  in  all  their  wrath  : 

By  infants  lisping  on  the  knee, 

Salvation  to  the  Lord  belongs  ; 

And  sucklings  at  the  breast. 

His  presence  guards  his  people's  path. 

When  I  behold  the  heavens  on  high, 

The  work  of  thy  right  hand; 

The  moon  and  stars  amid  the  sky, 

PSALM  IV. 

Thy  lights  in  every  land;  — 

Xo.  1. 

How  long,  ye  sons  of  men,  will  ye 
The  servant  of  the  Lord  despise, 

Lord  !  what  is  man,  that  thou  shouldst  deign 

On  him  to  set  thy  love, 

Give  him  on  earth  awhile  to  reign, 
Then  fill  a  throne  above? 

Delight  yourselves  with  vanity, 

And  trust  in  refuges  of  lies? 

Enow  that  the  Lord  hath  set  apart 

0  Lord,  how  excellent  thy  name ! 

The  godly  man  in  every  age  : 

How  manifold  thy  ways  ! 

He  loves  a  meek  and  lowly  heart; 

Let  Time  thy  saving  truth  proclaim, 

His  people  are  his  heritage. 

Eternity  tby  praise. 

Then  stand  in  awe,  nor  dare  to  sin ; 

Commune  with  your  own  heart ;  be  still ; 

The  Lord  requireth  truth  within, 

PSALM  XI. 

The  sacrifice  of  mind  and  will. 

The  Lord  is  in  his  holy  place, 

And  from  his  throne  on  high 

He  looks  upon  the  human  race 

PSALM  IV. 

With  omnipresent  eye. 

Xo.  2. 

He  proves  the  righteous,  marks  their  path ; 

While  many  cry,  in  Xature's  night, 

In  him  the  weak  are  strong; 

"Ah  !  who  will  show  the  way  to  bliss  ?" 

But  violence  provokes  his  wrath, 

Lord  !  lift  on  us  thy  saving  light  ; 

The  Lord  abhorreth  wroDg. 

We  seek  no  other  guide  than  thi3. 

Gladness  thy  sacred  presence  brings, 

God  on  the  wicked  will  rain  down 

More  than  the  joyful  reaper  knows  ; 

Brimstone,  and  fire,  and  snares; 

Or  he  who  treads  the  grapes,  and  sings, 

The  gloom  and  tempest  of  his  frown; 

While  with  new  wine  his  vat  o'erflows. 

—  This  portion  shall  be  theirs. 

In  peace  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep; 

The  righteous  Lord  will  take  delight 

Thine  arm,  0  Lord  !  shall  stay  my  head. 

Alone  in  righteousness ; 

Thine  angel  spread  his  tent,  and  keep 

The  just  are  pleasing  in  his  sight, 

His  midnight  watch  around  my  bed. 

The  humble  He  will  bless. 

SONGS    OF    ZION. 


209 


PSALM  XV. 

Lord  !  who  is  he  that  shall  abide 

Within  thy  tabernacle  here? 
Who  on  thy  holy  hill  reside? 

—  He  that  maintains  a  conscience  clear:  — 

He  that  in  his  uprightness  walks, 

Who  from  his  heart  the  truth  will  tell ; 

Of  others  ne'er  malignly  talks, 

Nor  lets  his  tongue  on  slanders  dwell :  — 

He  who  his  neighbour  never  wrongs, 
But,  while  the  base  ones  are  abhorr'd, 

Pays  the  high  honour  that  belongs 
To  those  who  fear  and  love  the  Lord  :  — 

He  that  to  his  own  hurt  will  swear. 

Nor  change  his  word,  his  covenant  break  ; 
Nor  lend  on  usury  to  ensnare, 

Nor  bribes  to  slay  the  righteous  take  :  — 

He  who  doth  these  shall  not  be  moved, 
For  God  will  surely  him  uphold, 

And  bring,  when  in  the  furnace  proved, 
Forth  from  the  fire,  refined  like  gold. 


PSALM  XIX. 
No.  1. 

Thy  glory,  Lord  !  the  heavens  declare, 
The  firmament  displays  thy  skill  ; 

The  changing  clouds,  the  viewless  air, 
Tempest  and  calm  thy  word  fulfil ; 

Day  unto  day  doth  utter  speech, 

And  night  to  night  thy  knowledge  teach. 

Though  voice  nor  sound  inform  the  ear, 
Well  known  the  language  of  their  song, 

When  one  by  one  the  stars  appear, 
Led  by  the  silent  moon  along, 

Till  round  the  earth,  from  all  the  sky, 

Thy  beauty  beams  on  every  eye. 

Waked  by  thy  touch,  the  morning  sun 
Comes  like  a  bridegroom  from  his  bower, 

And,  like  a  giant,  glad  to  run 

His  bright  career  with  speed  and  power ; 

—  Thy  flaming  messenger,  to  dart 

Life  through  the  depth  of  Nature's  heart. 
14 


While  these  transporting  visions  shine 
Along  the  path  of  Providence, 

Glory  eternal,  joy  divine, 
Thy  word  reveals,  transcending  sense; 

—  My  soul  thy  goodness  longs  to  see, 

Thy  love  to  man,  thy  love  to  me. 


PSALM  XIX. 
No.  2. 

Thy  law  is  perfect,  Lord  of  light ! 

Thy  testimonies  sure; 
The  statutes  of  thy  realm  are  right, 

And  thy  commandment  pure. 

Holy,  inviolate  thy  fear, 

Enduring  as  thy  throne  ; 
Thy  judgments,  chastening  or  severe, 

Justice  and  truth  alone. 

More  prized  than  gold, —  than  gold  whose  waste 

Refining  fire  expels  ; 
Sweeter  than  honey  to  my  taste, — 

Than  honey  from  the  cells. 

Let  these,  0  God  !  my  soul  convert, 

And  make  thy  servant  wise  j 
Let  these  be  gladness  to  my  heart, 

The  day-spring  to  mine  eyes. 

By  these  may  I  be  warn'd  betimes ; 

Who  knows  the  guile  within  ? 
Lord  !  save  me  from  presumptuous  crimes, 

Cleanse  me  from  secret  sin  ! 

So  may  the  words  my  lips  express, 
The  thoughts  that  throng  my  mind, 

0  Lord,  my  strength  and  righteousness ! 
With  thee  acceptance  find. 


PSALM  XX. 

Jehovah  hear  thee  in  the  day 

Of  thine  adversity ; 
The  God  of  Jacob  be  thy  stay, 

His  name  thy  strong-hold  be :  — 


210                                                               SONGS    OF   ZION. 

Help  from  his  sanctuary  send, 

Let  goodness  and  mercy,  my  bountiful  God  ! 

Strength  from  his  holy  hill; 

Still  follow  my  steps  till  I  meet  Thee  above ; 

Accept  thy  vows,  thy  prayers  attend, 

I  seek, —  by  the  path  which  my  forefathers  trod 

Thy  heart's  desires  fulfil. 

Through  the  land  of  their  sojourn, — thy  kingdom 

of  love. 

In  thy  deliverance  we  rejoice, 
And  in  Jehovah's  name 

Lift  up  our  banners  and  our  voice, 

His  triumphs  to  proclaim. 

PSALM  XXIV. 

Now  know  we  that  the  Lord  will  hear 

No.  1. 

His  own  Anointed  One, 

The  earth  is  thine,  Jehovah  ! — thine 

And  rescue  him  from  every  fear; 

Its  peopled  realms  and  wealthy  stores; 

—  So  let  his  will  be  done. 

Built  on  the  flood  by  power  divine, 

While  some  in  chariots  put  their  trust, 

The  waves  are  ramparts  to  the  shores. 

On  horses  some  rely, 
Those  shall  be  broken,  these  like  dust 
Before  the  whirlwind  fly. 

But  who  shall  reach  thine  holy  place, 

Or  who,  0  Lord  !  ascend  thine  hill? 
The  pure  in  heart  shall  see  thy  face, 

But  we  remember  God  alone, 

The  perfect  man  that  doth  thy  will. 

And  hope  in  Him,  whose  hand 

He  who  to  bribes  hath  closed  his  hand, 

"Will  raise  us  up  though  overthrown, 

To  idols  never  bent  the  knee, 

Though  fall'n  will  make  us  stand. 

Nor  sworn  in  falsehood, —  He  shall  stand 

Redeem'd,  and  own'd,  and  kept  by  Thee. 

God  save  the  King, —  the  people  save  ! 

Lord  !  hear  a  nation's  cries  : 
From  death  redeem  us,  and  the  grave, 

To  life  beyond  the  skies. 

PSALM  XXIV. 

No.  2. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  and  wide 

PSALM  XXIII. 

Your  everlasting  doors  display; 

Ye  angel-guards  !  like  flames  divide, 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  no  want  shall  I  know; 

And  give  the  King  of  Glory  way. 

I  feed  in  green  pastures,  safe-folded  I  rest; 

He  leadeth  my  soul  where  the  still  waters  flow, 

Who  is  the  King  of  Glory?  —  He, 

Restores    me    when   wandering,   redeems   when 

The  Lord  Omnipotent  to  save, 

opprest. 

Whose  own  right  arm  in  victory 

Through  the  valley  and  shadow  of  death  though  I 

Led  captive  death,  and  spoil'd  the  grave. 

stray, 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  and  high 

Since  Thou  art  my  guardian,  no  evil  I  fear; 

Your  everlasting  portals  heave; 

Thy  rod  shall  defend  me,  thy  staff  be  my  stay, 

Welcome  the  King  of  Glory  nigh  ; 

No  harm  can  befall,  with  my  Comforter  near. 

Him  let  the  heaven  of  heavens  receive. 

In  the  midst  of  affliction  my  table  is  spread; 

Who  is  the  King  of  Glory  ?— Who? 

With  blessings  unmeasured  my  cup  runneth  o'er; 

The  Lord  of  Hosts;  —  behold  his  name; 

With  perfume  and  oil  thou  anointest  my  head  : 

The  kingdom,  power,  and  honour  due 

0  what  shall  I  ask  of  thy  Providence  more  ? 

Yield  Him,  ye  saints,  with  glad  acclaim. 

SONGS   OF   ZION. 


211 


PSALM  XXIV. 

(THE    SECOND   TERSION.) 

No.  1. 

The  earth  is  God's  with  all  its  stores, 
The  world  and  all  therein  that  be; 

Upon  the  flood  He  fix'd  the  shores, 
And  gave  his  law  unto  the  sea. 

His  holy  mountain  who  shall  climb, 

Or  tread  his  courts  without  offence? 
—  He  who  hath  cleansed  his  heart  from  crime, 
And  wash'd  his  hands  in  innocence:  — 

From  vanity  hath  turn'd  his  eyes, 

Xor  put  to  shame  his  neighbour's  trust, 

Practised  deceit,  or  uttered  lies;  — 
He  that  is  upright,  pure,  and  just. 

These  shall  enjoy  Jehovah's  grace; 

To  them  his  mercy  shall  be  shown ; 
For  these  are  they  that  seek  thy  face;     # 

These,  God  of  Jacob  !  Thou  wilt  own. 


PSALM  XXIV. 

(the  second  version.) 

Xo.  2. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates !  behold 
The  King  of  Glory  draweth  nigh ; 

Ye  everlasting  doors  !  unfold, 

And  give  Him  welcome  to  the  sky. 

Who  is  this  King  of  Glory,— who? 

—  Jehovah,  strong  and  mighty;  —  He 
His  foes  in  battle  overthrew, 

And  crown'd  Himself  with  victory. 

Lift  up  your  heads,  ye  gates  !  on  high  ; 

Eternal  doors!  throw  wide  your  leaves; 
The  King  of  Glory  draweth  nigh, 

And  Him  the  heaven  of  heaven  receives. 

Who  is  this  King  of  Glory, — say? 

The  Lord  of  Hosts,  whom  we  proclaim; 
He  is  the  King  of  Glory  :  —  they 

That  know  his  power  will  fear  his  Xame. 


PSALM  XXVII. 


No.  1. 


God  is  my  strong  salvation, 

What  foe  have  I  to  fear  ? 
In  darkness  and  temptation, 

My  light,  my  help,  is  n«ar; 
Though  hosts  encamp  around  me, 

Firm  to  the  fight  I  stand; 
What  terror  can  confound  me, 

With  God  at  my  right  hand? 

Place  on  the  Lord  reliance, 

My  soul,  with  courage  wait; 
His  truth  be  thine  affiance, 

When  faint  and  desolate  : 
His  might  thine  heart  shall  strengthen, 

His  love  thy  joy  increase; 
Mercy  thy  days  shall  lengthen ; 

—  The  Lord  will  give  thee  peace. 


PSALM  XXVII. 


No.  2. 


One  thing,  with  all  my  soul's  desire, 
I  sought,  and  will  pursue; 

What  thine  own  Spirit  doth  inspire, 
Lord  !  for  thy  servant  do. 

Grant  me  within  thy  courts  a  place, 

Among  thy  saints  a  seat, 
For  ever  to  behold  thy  face, 

And  worship  at  thy  feet:  — 

In  thy  pavilion  to  abide, 

When  storms  of  trouble  blow ; 

And  in  thy  tabernacle  hide, 
Secure  from  every  foe. 

"Seek  ye  my  face;" — without  delay, 
When  thus  I  hear  Thee  speak, 

My  heart  would  leap  for  joy,  and  say, 
"  Thy  face,  Lord,  will  I  seek." 

Then  leave  me  not  when  griefs  assail, 
And  earthly  comforts  flee ; 

When  father,  mother,  kindred  fail, 
My  God  !  remember  me. 


Oft  had  I  fainted,  and  resign'd 

Of  every  hope  my  hold, 
But  mine  afflictions  brought  to  mind 

Thy  benefits  of  old. 

Wait  on  the  Lord,  with  courage  wait; 

My  soul !  disdain  to  fear  ; 
The  righteous  Judge  is  at  the  gate, 

And  thy  redemption  near. 


PSALM  XXIX. 

Give  glory  to  God  in  the  highest !  give  praise, 
Ye  noble,  ye  mighty,  with  joyful  accord; 

All-wise  are  his  councils,  all-perfect  his  ways  : 
In  the  beauty  of  holiness  worship  the  Lord  ! 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  on  the  ocean  is  known, 
The  God  of  eternity  thundereth  abroad; 

The  voice  of  the  Lord,  from  the  depth  of  his  throne, 
Is  terror  and  power;  —  all  nature  is  awed. 

At  the  voice  of  the  Lord  the  cedars  are  bow'd, 
And  towers  from  their  base  into  ruin  are  hurl'd ; 

The  voice  of  the  Lord,  from  the  dark-bosom'd  cloud, 
Dissevers  the  lightning  in  flames  o'er  the  world. 

See  Lebanon  bound,  like  the  kid  on  his  rocks, 
And  wild  as  the  unicorn  Sirion  appear; 

The  wilderness  quakes  with  the  resonant  shocks ; 
The  hinds  cast  their  young  in  the  travail  of  fear. 

The  voice  of  the  Lord  through  the  calm  of  the  wood 

Awakens  its  echoes,  strikes  light  through  its  caves ; 
The  Lord  sitteth  King  on  the  turbulent  flood ; 

The  winds  are  his  servants,  his  servants  the  waves. 
» 
The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  his  people;  the  Lord 

Gives  health  to  his  people,  and  peace  evermore  ; 
Then  throng  to  his  temple,  his  glory  record, 

But,  0  !  when  He'  speakcth,  in  silence  adore. 


PSALM  XXX. 

Yea,  I  will  extol  Thee, 
Lord  of  life  and  light! 

For  thine  arm  upheld  me, 
Turn'd  my  foes  to  flight : 


I  implored  thy  succour, 

Thou  wert  swift  to  save, 
Heal  my  wounded  spirit, 

Bring  me  from  the  grave. 

Sing,  ye  saints,  sing  praises ! 

Call  his  love  to  mind: 
For  a  moment  angry, 

But  for  ever  kind  : 
Grief  may,  like  a  stranger, 

Through  the  night  sojourn, 
Yet  shall  joy  to-morrow 

With  the  sun  return. 

In  my  wealth  I  vaunted, 

"Xought  shall  move  me  hence;' 
Thou  hadst  made  my  mountain 

Strong  in  thy  defence  : 

—  Then  thy  face  was  hidden, 
Trouble  laid  me  low, 

"Lord,"  I  cried,  most  humbly, 
"Why  forsake  me  so? 

"  Would  my  blood  appease  Thee, 

In  atonement  shed  ? 
Can  the  dust  give  glory, — 

Praise  employ  the  dead  ? 
Hear  me,  Lord  !  in  mercy  ; 

God,  my  helper,  hear!" 

—  Long  Thou  didst  not  tarry, 
Help  and  health  were  near. 

Thou  hast  turn'd  my  mourning 

Into  minstrelsy, 
Girded  me  with  gladness, 

Set  from  thraldom  free  : 
Thee  my  ransom'd  powers 

Henceforth  shall  adore, — 
Thee,  my  great  Deliverer, 

Bless  for  evermore  ! 


PSALM  XXXIX. 

Lord  !  let  me  know  mine  end, 
My  days,  how  brief  their  date, 

That  I  may  timely  comprehend 
How  frail  my  best  estate. 


My  life  is  but  a  span, 

Mine  age  as  nought  with  Thee; 
Man,  in  his  highest  honour,  man 

Is  dust  and  vanity. 

A  shadow  even  in  health, 

Disquieted  with  pride, 
Or  rack'd  with  care,  he  heaps  up  wealth 

Which  unknown  heirs  divide. 

What  seek  I  now,  0  Lord? 

My  hope  is  in  thy  name; 
Blot  out  my  sins  from  thy  record, 

Nor  give  me  up  to  shame. 

Dumb  at  thy  feet  I  lie, 

For  Thou  hast  brought  me  low : 
Remove  thy  judgments,  lest  I  die; 

I  faint  beneath  thy  blow. 

At  thy  rebuke,  the  bloom 

Of  man's  vain  beauty  flies  ; 
And  grief  shall,  like  a  moth,  consume 

All  that  delights  our  eyes. 

Have  pity  on  my  fears, 

Hearken  to  my  request, 
Turn  not  in  silence  from  my  tears, 

Cut  give  the  mourner  rest. 

A  stranger,  Lord  !  with  Thee, 

I  walk  on  pilgrimage, 
Where  all  my  fathers  once,  like  me, 

Sojourn'd  from  age  to  age. 

0  spare  me  yet,  I  pray  ! 

Awhile  my  strength  restore, 
Ere  I  am  summon'd  hence  away, 

And  seen  on  earth  no  more. 


PSALM  XLII. 
No.  1. 

As  the  hart,  with  eager  looks, 
Panteth  for  the  water-brooks, 
So  my  soul,  athirst  for  Thee, 
Pants  the  living  God  to  see  : 
When,  0  when,  with  filial  fear, 
Lord  !  shall  I  to  Thee  draw  near? 

Tears  my  food  by  night,  by  day 
Grief  consumes  my  strength  away ; 


While  his  craft  the  Tempter  plies, 
"Where  is  now  thy  God  ?"  he  cries; 
This  would  sink  me  to  despair, 
But  I  pour  my  soul  in  prayer. 

For  in  happier  times  I  went 
Where  the  multitude  frequent : 
I,  with  them,  was  wont  to  bring 
Homage  to  thy  courts,  my  King ! 
I,  with  them,  was  wont  to  raise 
Festal  hymns  on  holy  days. 

Why  art  thou  cast  down,  my  soul? 
God,  thy  God,  shall  make  thee  whole : 
Why  art  thou  disquieted? 
God  shall  lift  thy  fallen  head; 
And  His  countenance  benign 
Be  the  saving  health  of  thine. 


PSALM  XLIL 

No.  2. 

Hearken,  Lord  !  to  my  complaints, 

For  my  soul  within  me  faints ; 

Thee,  far  oft",  I  call  to  mind, 

In  the  land  I  left  behind, 

Where  the  streams  of  Jordan  flow, 

Where  the  heights  of  Hcrmon  glow. 

Tempest-tost,  my  failing  bark 
Founders  on  the  ocean  dark ; 
Deep  to  deep  around  me  calls, 
With  the  rush  of  water-falls  ; 
While  I  plunge  to  lower  caves 
Overwhelm'd  by  all  thy  waves. 

Once  the  morning's  earliest  light 
Brought  thy  mercy  to  my  sight, 
And  my  wakeful  song  was  heard 
Later  than  the  evening  bird ; 
Hast  Thou  all  my  prayers  forgot  ? 
Dost  Thou  scorn,  or  hear  them  not? 

Why,  my  soul,  art  thou  perplex'd? 
Why  with  faithless  trouble  vex'd? 
Hope  in  God,  whose  saving  name 
Thou  shalt  joyfully  proclaim, 
When  His  countenance  shall  shine 
Through  the  clouds  that  darken  thine. 


214                                                              SONGS   OF    ZION. 

PSALM  XLIII. 

Thither  let  fervent  faith  aspire; 

Our  treasure  and  our  heart  be  there : 

[Continuation  of  Psalm  XLII.] 

0  for  a  seraph's  wing  of  fire ! 

No.  3. 

No, — on  the  mightier  wings  of  prayer, — 

Judge  me,  Lord,  in  righteousness; 

We  reach  at  once  that  last  retreat, 

Plead  for  me  in  my  distress  : 

And,  ranged  among  the  ransom'd  throng, 

Good  and  merciful  Thou  art, 

Fall  with  the  Elders  at  ltis  feet, 

Bind  this  bleeding,  broken  heart; 

Whose  name  alone  inspires  their  song. 

Cast  me  not  despairing  hence, 

Be  thy  love  my  confidence. 

Ah,  soon,  how  soon  !  our  spirits  droop  ; 

Unwont  the  air  of  heaven  to  breathe: 

Send  thy  light  and  truth  to  guide 

Yet  God  in  very  deed  will  stoop, 

Me,  too  prone  to  turn  aside, 

And  dwell  Himself  with  men  beneath. 

On  thy  holy  hill  to  rest, 

In  thy  tabernacles  blest; 

Come  to  thy  living  temples,  then, 

There,  to  God,  my  chiefest  joy, 

As  in  the  ancient  times  appear; 

Praise  shall  all  my  powers  employ. 

Let  earth  be  paradise  again, 

And  man,  0  God  !  thine  image  here. 

Why,  my  soul,  art  thou  dismay'd? 

Why  of  earth  or  hell  afraid? 

Trust  in  God;  —  disdain  to  yield, 

While  o'er  thee  He  casts  his  shield, 

PSALM  XLVI. 

And  His  countenance  divine 

No.  2. 

Sheds  the  light  of  Heaven  on  thine. 

Come  and  behold  the  works  of  God, 

What  desolations  He  will  make ; 
In  vengeance  when  He  wields  his  rod, 

The  heathen  rage,  their  kingdoms  quake : 

PSALM  XLVI. 

He  utters  forth  his  voice;— 'tis  felt; 

No.  1. 

Like  wax  the  world's  foundations  melt; 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  in  the  field, 

God  is  our  refuge  and  defence, 

The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  shield. 

In  trouble  our  unfailing  aid  : 

Secure  in  his  omnipotence, 

Again  He  maketh  wars  to  cease, 

What  foe  can  make  our  soul  afraid  ? 

He  breaks  the  bow,  unpoints  the  spear, 

And  burns  the  chariot; — joy  and  peace 

Yea,  though  the  earth's  foundations  rock, 

In  all  bis  glorious  march  appear: 

And  mountains  down  the  gulf  be  hurl'd, 

Silence,  0  Earth  !  thy  Maker  own ; 

His  people  smile  amid  the  shock, 

Ye  Gentiles,  He  is  God  alone; 

They  look  beyond  this  transient  world. 

The  Lord  of  Hosts  is  in  the  field, 

The  God  of  Jacob  is  our  shield. 

There  is  a  river  pure  and  bright, 

Whose  streams  make  glad  the  heavenly  plains; 
Where,  in  eternity  of  light, 

The  city  of  our  God  remains. 

PSALM  XLVII. 

Built  by  the  word  of  his  command, 

Extol  the  Lord,  the  Lord  most  high, 

With  his  unclouded  presence  blest, 

King  over  all  the  earth ; 

Firm  as  his  throne  the  bulwarks  stand; 

Exalt  his  triumphs  to  the  sky 

There  is  our  home,  our  hope,  our  rest. 

In  songs  of  sacred  mirth. 

SONGS   OP   ZION. 


215 


Where'er  the  sea-ward  rivers  run, 

His  banner  shall  advance, 
And  every  realm  beneath  the  sun 

Be  his  inheritance. 

Gon  is  gone  up  with  loud  acclaim, 

And  trumpets'  tuneful  voice  ; 
Sing  praise,  sing  praises  to  his  name; 

Sing  praises,  and  rejoice  ! 

Sing  praises  to  our  God  !  sing  praise 

To  every  creature's  King ! 
His  wondrous  works,  his  glorious  ways, 

All  tongues,  all  kindred,  sing. 

God  sits  upon  his  holy  throne, 

God  o'er  the  heathen  reigns  ; 
His  truth  through  all  the  world  is  known, 

That  truth  his  throne  sustains. 

Princes  around  his  footstool  throng, 

Kings  in  the  dust  adore  ; 
Earth  and  her  shields  to  God  belong; 

Sing  praises  evermore  ! 


PSALM  XLVIII. 

Jehovah  is  great,  and  great  be  his  praise; 

In  the  city  of  God  He  is  King; 
Proclaim  ye  his  triumphs  in  jubilant  lays, 

On  the  mount  of  his  holiness  sing. 

The  joy  of  the  earth,  from  her  beautiful  height, 

Is  Zion's  impregnable  hill; 
The  Lord  in  her  temple  still  taketh  delight, 

God  reigns  in  her  palaces  still. 

At  the  sight  of  her  splendour,  the  kings  of  the  earth 
Grew  pale  with  amazement  and  dread  ; 

Fear  seized  them  like  pangs  of  a  premature  birth ; 
They  came,  they  beheld  her,  and  fled. 

Thou  breakest  the  ships  from  the  sea-cireled  climes, 
When  the  storm  of  thy  jealousy  lowers, 

As  our  fathers  have  told  of  thy  deeds,  in  their  times, 
So,  Lord  !  have  we  witness'd  in  ours. 

In  the  midst  of  thy  temple,  0  God!  hath  our  mind 
Remember' d  thy  mercy  of  old; 


Let  thy  name,  like  thy  praise,  to  no  realm  be  con- 
fined; 
Thy  power  may  all  nations  behold. 

Let  the  daughters  of  Judah  be  glad  for  thy  love, 

The  mountain  of  Zion  rejoice, 
For  Thou  wilt  establish  her  seat  from  above, — 

Wilt  make  her  the  throne  of  thy  choice. 

Go,  walk  about  Zion,  and  measure  the  length, 
Her  walls  and  her  bulwarks  mark  well; 

Contemplate  her  palaces,  glorious  in  strength, 
Her  towers  and  their  pinnacles  tell. 

Then   say  to   your  children:  —  Our  strong-hold  is 
tried ; 

This  God  is  our  God  to  the  end; 
His  people  for  ever  his  counsels  shall  guide, 

His  arm  shall  for  ever  defend. 


PSALM  LI. 

Have  mercy  on  me,  0  my  God  ! 

In  loving-kindness  hear  my  prayer; 
Withdraw  the  terror  of  thy  rod  ; 

Lord  !  in  thy  tender  mercy  spare. 

Offences  rise  where'er  I  look  ; 

But  I  confess  their  guilt  to  Thee  ; 
Blot  my  transgressions  from  thy  book, 

Cleanse  me  from  mine  iniquity. 

Whither  from  vengeance  can  I  run  ? 

Just  are  thy  judgments,  Lord,  and  right: 
For  all  the  evil  I  have  done, 

I  did  it  only  in  thy  sight. 

Shapen  in  frailty,  born  in  sin, 
From  error  how  shall  I  depart? 

Lo,  thou  requirest  truth  within ; 

Lord  !  write  thy  truth  upon  my  heart. 

Me  through  the  blood  of  sprinkling  make 
Pure  from  defilement,  white  as  snow; 

Heal  me  for  my  Redeemer's  sake  ; 
Then  joy  and  gladness  I  shall  know. 

A  perfect  heart  in  me  create, 
Renew  my  soul  in  innocence; 


216 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


Cast  not  the  suppliant  from  thy  gate, 

Praise  with  my  heart,  my  mind,  my  voice, 

Nor  take  thine  Holy  Spirit  hence. 

For  all  thy  mercy,  I  will  give ; 

My  soul  shall  still  in  God  rejoice, 

Thy  consolations,  as  of  old, 

My  tongue  shall  bless  Thee  while  I  live. 

Now  to  my  troubled  miDd  restore; 

By  thy  free  Spirit's  might  uphold 

And  guide  my  steps,  to  fall  no  more. 

Then  sinners  will  I  teach  thy  ways, 

PSALM  LXIX. 

And  rebels  to  thy  sceptre  bring; 

God  !  be  merciful  to  me, 

—  Open  my  lips,  0  God  !  in  praise, 

For  my  spirit  trusts  in  Thee, 

So  shall  my  mouth  thy  goodness  sing. 

And  to  Thee,  her  refuge,  springs : 

Not  streaming  blood,  nor  purging  fire 

Be  the  shadow  of  thy  wings 
Bound  the  trembling  sinner  cast, 

Thy  righteous  anger  can  appease ; 
Burnt-offering  thou  dost  not  require, 

Till  the  storm  is  overpast. 

Or  gladly  I  would  render  these. 

From  the  water-floods  that  roll 

The  broken  heart  in  sacrifice, 

Alone  may  thine  acceptance  meet; 

My  heart,  0  God  !  do  not  despise, 
Broken  and  contrite,  at  thy  feet. 

Deep  and  deeper  round  my  soul, 
Me,  thine  arm  almighty  take, 
For  thy  loving-kindness'  sake  : 
If  thy  truth  from  me  depart, 
Thy  rebuke  would  break  my  heart. 

Foes  increase,  they  close  me  round, 

PSALM  LXIII. 

Friend  nor  comforter  is  found  ; 
Sore  temptations  now  assail, 

0  God  !  Thou  art  my  God  alone, 

Early  to  Thee  my  soul  shall  cry ; 
A  pilgrim  in  a  land  unknown, 

Hope,  and  strength,  and  courage  fail ; 
Turn  not  from  thy  servant's  grief, 
Hasten,  Lord  !  to  my  relief. 

A  thirsty  land  whose  springs  are  dry. 

Poor  and  sorrowful  am  I; 

0  that  it  were  as  it  hath  been, 
When,  praying  in  the  holy  place, 

Thy  power  and  glory  I  have  seen, 
And  mark'd  the  footsteps  of  thy  grace  ! 

Set  me,  0  my  God  !  on  high : 
Wonders  Thou  for  me  hast  wrought; 
Nigh  to  death  my  soul  is  brought ; 
Save  me,  Lord  !  in  mercy  save, 
Lest  I  sink  below  the  grave. 

Yet,  through  this  rough  and  thorny  maze, 

I  follow  hard  on  Thee,  my  God  ! 

Thine  hand  unseen  upholds  my  ways, 

I  safely  tread  where  Thou  hast  trod. 

PSALM  LXX. 

Thee,  in  the  watches  of  the  night, 

Hasten,  Lord  !  to  my  release, 

When  I  remember  on  my  bed, 

Haste  to  help  me,  0  my  God  ! 

Thy  presence  makes  the  darkness  light, 

Foes,  like  armed  bands,  increase  ; 

Thy  guardian  wings  are  round  my  head. 

Turn  them  back  the  way  they  trod. 

Better  than  life  itself  thy  love, 

Dark  temptations  round  me  press; 

Dearer  than  all  beside  to  me ; 

Evil  thoughts  my  soul  assail; 

For  whom  have  I  in  heaven  above, 

Doubts  and  fears,  in  my  distress, 

Or  what  on  earth,  compared  with  Thee? 

Bise,  till  flesh  and  spirit  fail. 

SOXGS   OF    ZIOX. 


21 7 


Those  that  seek  Thee  shall  rejoice ; 

I  am  bow'd  with  misery; 
Yet  I  make  thy  law  my  choice; 

Turn,  my  God  !  and  look  on  me. 

Thou  mine  only  Helper  art, 
My  Redeemer  from  the  grave; 

Strength  of  my  desiring  heart, 
Do  not  tarry,  haste  to  save  ! 


PSALM  LXXI. 

Lord  !  I  have  put  my  trust  in  Thee, 
Turn  not  my  confidence  to  shame; 

Thy  promise  is  a  rock  to  me, 
A  tower  of  refuge  is  thy  name. 

Thou  hast  upheld  me  from  the  womb; 

Thou  wert  my  strength  and  hope  in  youth; 
Xow,  trembling,  bending  o'er  the  tomb, 

I  lean  upon  thine  arm  of  truth. 

Though  I  have  long  outlived  my  peers, 

And  stand  amid  the  world  alone, 
(A  stranger,  left  by  former  years,) 

I  know  my  God, —  by  Ilim  am  known. 

Cast  me  not  off  in  mine  old  age, 

Forsake  me  not  in  my  last  hour; 
The  foe  has  not  foregone  his  rage, 

The  lion  ravens  to  devour. 

Not  far,  my  God,  not  far  remove : 

Sin  and  the  world  still  spread  their  snares  ; 
Stand  by  me  now,  or  they  will  prove 

Too  crafty  yet  for  my  grey  hairs. 

Me,  through  what  troubles  hast  Thou  brought ! 

Me,  with  what  consolations  crown'd  ! 
Now  be  thy  last  deliverance  wrought  ; 

My  soul  in  peace  with  Thee  be  found ! 


PSALM  LXXII. 

Hail  to  the  Lord's  anointed  ! 

Great  David's  greater  Son  ; 
Hail,  in  the  time  appointed, 

His  reign  on  earth  begun! 


Ho  comes  to  break  oppression, 

To  let  the  captive  free  : 
To  take  away  transgression, 

And  rule  in  equity. 

He  comes,  with  succour  speedy, 

To  those  who  suffer  wrong; 
To  help  the  poor  and  needy, 

And  bid  the  weak  be  strong; 
To  give  them  songs  for  sighing, 

Their  darkness  turn  to  light, 
Whose  souls,  condemn'd  and  dying, 

Were  precious  in  hia  sight. 

By  such  shall  He  be  fear'd, 

While  sun  and  moon  endure, 
Beloved,  obey'd,  revered ; 

For  He  shall  judge  the  poor, 
Through  changing  generations, 

With  justice,  mercy,  truth, 
While  stars  maintain  their  stations, 

Or  moons  renew  their  youth. 

He  shall  come  down,  like  showers 

Upon  the  fruitful  earth, 
And  love,  joy,  hope,  like  flowers, 

Spring  in  his  path  to  birth  : 
Before  Him,  on  the  mountains, 

Shall  Peace  the  herald  go  ; 
And  righteousness  in  fountains 

From  hill  to  valley  flow. 

Arabia's  desert-ranger, 

To  Him  shall  bow  the  knee ; 
The  Ethiopian  stranger 

His  glory  come  to  see; 
With  offerings  of  devotion, 

Ships  from  the  isles  shall  meet 
To  pour  the  wealth  of  ocean 

In  tribute  at  his  feet. 

Kings  shall  fall  down  beforo  Him, 

And  gold  and  incense  bring; 
All  nations  shall  adore  Him, 

His  praise  all  people  sing; 
For  He  shall  have  dominion 

O'er  river,  sea,  and  shore, 
Far  as  the  eagle's  pinion 

Or  clove's  light  wing  can  soar. 


218 


SONGS    OF    ZIOX. 


For  Him  shall  prayer  unceasing, 

And  daily  vows,  ascend; 
His  kingdom  still  increasing, 

A  kingdom  without  end  : 
The  mountain-dews  shall  nourish 

A  seed  in  weakness  sown, 
Whose  fruit  shall  spread  and  flourish, 

And  shake  like  Lebanon. 

O'er  every  foe  victorious, 

He  on  his  throne  shall  rest, 
From  age  to  age  more  glorious, 

All-blessing  and  all-blest ; 
The  tide  of  time  shall  never 

His  covenant  remove ; 
His  name  shall  stand  for  ever; 

That  name  to  us  is  —  Love. 


PSALM  LXXIII. 

Truly  the  God  is  good  to  those, 

The  pure  in  heart,  who  love  his  name ; 

But  as  for  me,  temptation  rose, 
And  well-nigh  cast  me  down  to  shame. 

For  I  was  envious  at  their  state, 

When  I  beheld  the  wicked  rise, 
And  flourish  in  their  pride  elate, 

Xo  fear  of  death  before  their  eyes. 

Not  troubled  they,  as  others  are, 

Xor  plagued,  with  all  their  vain  pretence ; 
Pride  like  a  chain  of  gold  they  wear, 

And  clothe  themselves  with  violence. 

Swoln  are  their  eyes  with  wine  and  lust, 
For  more  than  heart  can  wish  have  they ; 

In  fraud  and  tyranny  they  trust 
To  make  the  multitude  their  prey. 

Their  mouth  assails  the  heavens;  their  tongue 
Walks  arrogantly  through  the  earth ; 

Pleasure's  full  cups  to  them  are  wrung; 
They  reel  in  revelry  and  mirth. 

••  Who  is  the  Lord,  that  we  should  fear 
Lest  He  our  dark  devices  know  ? 

Who  the  Most  High,  that  lie  should  hear, 
Or  heed,  the  words  of  men  below?" 


Thus  cry  the  mockers,  flush'd  with  health, 
Exulting  while  their  joys  increase; 

These  are  the'  ungodly;  —  men,  whose  wealth 
Flows  like  a  river,  ne'er  to  cease. 

And  have  I  cleansed  my  heart  in  vain, 
And  wash'd  in  innocence  my  hands  ? 

All  day  afflicted,  I  complain,      . 

All  night  I  mourn  in  straitening  bands. 

Too  painful  this  for  me  to  view, 
Till  to  thy  temple,  Lord,  I  went, 

And  then  their  fearful  end  I  knew, 
How  suddenly  their  light  is  spent. 

Surely,  in  slippery  places  set, 

Down  to  perdition  these  are  hurl'd; 

Snared  in  the  toils  of  their  own  net, 
A  spectacle  to  all  the  world. 

As,  from  a  dream  when  one  awakes, 
The  phantoms  of  the  brain  take  flight; 

So,  when  thy  wrath  in  thunder  breaks, 
Their  image  shall  dissolve  in  night. 

Abash'd,  my  folly  then  I  saw  ; 

I  seem'd  before  Thee  like  a  brute; 
Smit  to  the  heart,  o'erwhelm'd  with  awe, 

I  bow'd,  and  worshipp'd,  and  was  mute. 

Yet  Thou  art  ever  at  my  side ; 

0  !  still  uphold  me,  and  defend; 
Me  by  thy  counsel  Thou  shalt  guide, 

And  bring  to  glory  in  the  end. 

Whom  have  I,  Lord  !  in  heaven  but  Thee? 

On  earth  shall  none  divide  my  heart; 
Then  fail  my  flesh,  my  spirit  flee, 

Thou  mine  eternal  portion  art. 


PSALM  LXXVII. 

Is  time  of  tribulation, 

Hear,  Lord  !  my  feeble  cries ; 
With  humble  supplication, 
To  Thee  my  spirit  flies  : 


SONGS    OF    ZIOX. 


219 


My  heart  with  grief  is  breaking, 
Scarce  can  my  voice  complain ; 

Mine  eye?,  with  tears  kept  waking, 
Still  watch  and  weep  in  vain. 

The  days  of  old,  in  vision, 

Bring  vanish'd  bliss  to  view  ; 
The  years  of  lost  fruition 

Their  joys  in  pangs  renew  : 
Remernber'd  songs  of  gladness, 

Through  night's  lone  silence  brought, 
Strike  notes  of  deeper  sadness, 

And  stir  desponding  thought. 

Hath  Ood  cast  off  for  ever? 

Can  time  his  truth  impair  ? 
His  tender  mercy,  never 

Shall  I  presume  to  share  ? 
Hath  He  his  loving-kindness 

Shut  up  in  endless  wrath?  — 
No ;  —  this  is  my  own  blindness 

That  cannot  see  his  path. 

I  call  to  recollection 

The  years  of  his  right  hand  ; 
And,  strong  in  his  protection, 

Again  through  faith  I  stand  ; 
Tby  deeds,  0  Lord  !  are  wonder; 

Holy  are  all  thy  ways  ; 
The  secret  place  of  thunder 

Shall  utter  forth  thy  praise. 

Thee,  with  the  tribes  assembled, 

0  God  !  the  billows  saw  ; 
They  saw  Thee,  and  they  trembled, 

Turn'd,  and  stood  still,  with  awe  : 
The  clouds  shot  hail  —  they  lighten'd; 

The  earth  reel'd  to  and  fro  ; 
Thy  fiery  pillar  brighten'd 

The  gulf  of  gloom  below. 

Thy  way  is  in  great  waters, 

Thy  footsteps  are  not  known  ; 
Let  Adam's  sons  and  daughters 

Confide  in  Thee  alone  : 
Through  the  wild  sea  Thou  leddest 

Thy  chosen  flock  of  yore; 
Still  on  the  waves  Thou  treadest, 

And  thy  redeem'd  pass  o'er. 


PSALM  LXXX. 

Of  old,  0  God  !  thine  own  right  hand 
A  pleasant  vine  did  plant  and  train ; 

Above  the  hills,  o'er  all  the  land, 
It  sought  the  6un,  and  drank  the  rain. 

Its  boughs  like  goodly  cedars  spread, 
Forth  to  the  river  went  the  root; 

Perennial  verdure  crown'd  its  head, 
It  bore,  in  every  season,  fruit. 

That  vine  is  desolate  and  torn, 
Its  scions  in  the  dust  are  laid; 

Rank  o'er  the  ruin  springs  the  thorn, 
The  wild  boar  wallows  in  the  shade. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts  !  thine  ear  incline, 
Change  into  songs  thy  people's  fears  ; 

Return,  and  visit  this  thy  vine, 
Revive  thy  work  amidst  the  years. 

The  plenteous  and  continual  dew 
Of  thy  rich  blessing  here  descend; 

So  shall  thy  vine  its  leaf  renew, 
Till  o'er  the  earth  its  branches  bend. 

Then  shall  it  flourish  wide  and  far, 
While  realms  beneath  its  shadow  rest; 

The  morning  and  the  evening  star 

Shall  mark  its  bounds  from  east  to  west. 

So  shall  thine  enemies  be  dumb, 

Thy  bauish'd  ones  no  more  enslaved, 

The  fulness  of  the  Gentiles  come, 
And  Israel's  youngest  born  be  saved. 


PSALM  LXXXIV. 

How  amiable,  how  fair, 

0  Lord  of  Hosts  !  to  me, 
Thy  tabernacles  are ! 

My  flesh  cries  out  for  Thee; 
My  heart  and  soul,  with  heaven-ward  fire 
To  Thee,  the  living  God,  aspire. 

The  sparrow  here  finds  place 
To  build  her  little  nest; 


220 


SONGS   OF    ZION. 


The  swallow's  wandering  race 

Hither  return  and  rest ; 
Beneath  thy  roof  their  young  ones  cry, 
And  round  thine  altar  learn  to  fly. 

Thrice  blessed  they  who  dwell 

Within  thine  house,  my  God  ! 
Where  daily  praises  swell, 

And  still  the  floor  is  trod 
By  those  who  in  thy  presence  bow, 
By  those  whose  King  and  God  art  Thou. 

Through  Baea's-arid  vale, 

As  pilgrims  when  they  pass, 
The  well-springs  never  fail, 

Fresh  rain  renews  the  grass ; 
From  strength  to  strength  they  journey  still, 
Till  all  appear  on  Zion's  hill. 

Lord  God  of  Hosts !  give  ear, 

A  gracious  answer  yield; 
0  God  of  Jacob!  hear; 

Behold,  0  God  !  our  shield  ; 
Look  on  thine  own  Anointed  One, 
And  save  through  thy  beloved  Son. 

Lord  !  I  would  rather  stand 

A  keeper  at  thy  gate, 
Than  on  the  king's  right  hand 

In  tents  of  worldly  state ; 
One  day  within  thy  courts,  one  day, 
Is  worth  a  thousand  cast  away. 

God  is  a  sun  of  light, 

Glory  and  grace  to  shed ; 
God  is  a  shield  of  might, 

To  guard  the  faithful  head : 
0  Lord  of  Hosts !  how  happy  he, 
The  man  who  puts  his  trust  in  Thee ! 


PSALM  XC. 

Lord  !  Thou  hast  been  thy  people's  rest, 
Through  all  their  generations, 

Their  refuge  when  by  danger  prest, 
Their  hope  in  tribulations  ; 

Thou,  ere  the  mountains  sprang  to  birth, 

Or  ever  Thou  hadst  form'd  the  earth, 
Art  God  from  everlasting  ! 


The  sons  of  men  return  to  clay, 
When  Thou  the  word  hast  spoken, 

As  with  a  torrent  borne  away, 
Gone  like  a  dream  when  broken : 

A  thousand  years  are  in  thy  sight, 

But  as  a  watch  amid  the  night, 
Or  yesterday  departed. 

At  morn  we  flourish  like  the  grass 
With  dew  and  sunbeams  lighted  ; 

But  ere  the  cool  of  evening  pass, 
The  rich  array  is  blighted ; 

Thus  do  thy  chastisements  consume 

Youth's  tender  leaf  and  beauty's  bloom ; 
We  fade  at  thy  displeasure. 

Our  life  is  like  the  transient  breath 

That  tells  a  mournful  story  ; 
Early  or  late,  stopt  short  by  death ; 

And  where  is  all  for  glory ! 
Our  days  are  threescore  years  and  ten, 
And  if  the  span  be  lengthen'd  then, 

Their  strength  is  toil  and  sorrow. 

Lo  !  thou  hast  set  before  thine  eyes 

All  our  misdeeds  and  errors  ; 
Our  secret  sins  from  darkness  rise, 

At  thine  awakening  terrors  : 
Who  shall  abide  the  trying  hour? 
Who  knows  the  thunder  of  thy  power? 

We  flee  unto  thy  mercy. 

Lord  !  teach  us  so  to  mark  our  days, 

That  we  may  prize  them  duly  ; 
So  guide  our  feet  in  Wisdom's  ways, 

That  we  may  love  Thee  truly  : 
Return,  0  Lord  !  our  griefs  behold, 
And  with  thy  goodness,  as  of  old, 

0  satisfy  us  early  ! 

Restore  our  comforts  as  our  fears, 

Our  joys  as  our  affliction  ; 
Give  to  thy  church,  through  changing  years, 

Increasing  benediction  ; 
Thy  glorious  beauty  there  reveal, 
And  with  thy  perfect  image  seal 

Thy  servants  and  their  labours. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


221 


PSALM  XCI. 

Call  Jehovah  thy  salvation, 

Rest  beneath  the'  Almighty's  shade ; 
In  his  secret  habitation 

Dwell,  nor  ever  be  dismay'd  : 
There  no  tumult  can  alarm  thee, 

Thou  shalt  dread  no  hidden  snare ; 
Guile  nor  violence  can  harm  thee, 

In  eternal  safeguard  there. 

From  the  sword  at  noon-day  wasting, 

From  the  noisome  pestilence, 
In  the  depth  of  midnight,  blasting, 

God  shall  be  thy  sure  defence : 
Fear  not  thou  the  deadly  quiver, 

When  a  thousand  feel  the  blow; 
Mercy  shall  thy  soul  deliver, 

Though  ten  thousand  be  laid  low. 

Only  with  thine  eye,  the  anguish 

Of  the  wicked  thou  shalt  see, 
When  by  slow  disease  they  languish, 

When  they  perish  suddenly  : 
Thee,  though  winds  and  waves  be  swelling, 

God,  thine  hope,  shall  bear  through  all ; 
Plague  shall  not  come  nigh  thy  dwelling, 

Thee  no  evil  shall  befall. 

He  shall  charge  his  angel-legions, 

AVatch  and  ward  o'er  thee  to  keep, 
Though  thou  walk  through  hostile  regions, 

Though  in  desert-wilds  thou  sleep  : 
On  the  lion  vainly  roaring, 

On  his  young,  thy  foot  shall  tread; 
And  the  dragon's  den  exploring, 

Thou  shalt  bruise  the  serpent's  head. 

Since  with  pure  and  firm  affection, 

Thou  on  God  hast  set  thy  love, 
With  the  wings  of  his  protection 

He  will  shield  thee  from  above; 
Thou  shalt  call  on  Him  in  trouble, 

He  will  hearken,  Ho  will  save, 
Here  for  grief  reward  thee  double, 

Crown  with  life  beyond  the  grave. 


PSALM  XCIII. 

The  Lord  is  King;  —  upon  his  throne 
He  sits  in  garments  glorious ; 

Or  girds  for  war  his  armour  on, 
In  every  field  victorious  : 

The  world  came  forth  at  his  command ; 

Built  on  his  word,  its  pillars  stand  ; 
They  never  can  be  shaken. 

The  Loud  was  King  ere  time  began, 

His  reign  is  everlasting; 
When  high  the  floods  in  tumult  ran, 

Their  foam  to  heaven  up-casting, 
He  made  the  raging  waves  his  path, 
—  The  sea  is  mighty  in  its  wrath, 

But  God  on  high  is  mightier. 

Thy  testimonies,  Lord  !  are  sure  ; 

Thy  realm  fears  no  commotion, 
Firm  as  the  earth  whose  shores  endure 

The'  eternal  toil  of  ocean  : 
And  Thou  with  perfect  peace  wilt  bless 
Thy  faithful  flock  ;  — for  holiness 

Becomes  thine  house  for  ever. 


PSALM  XCV. 

0  come,  let  us  sing  to  the  Lord, 

In  God  our  salvation  rejoice  ; 
In  psalms  of  thanksgiving  record 

His  praise,  with  one  spirit,  one  voice  ! 
For  Jehovah  is  King,  and  He  reigns, 

The  God  of  all  gods,  on  his  throne ; 
The  strength  of  the  hills  He  maintains, 

The  ends  of  the  earth  are  his  own. 

The  sea  is  Jehovah's;  —  He  made 

The  tide  its  dominion  to  know; 
The  land  is  Jehovah's  ;  —  He  laid 

Its  solid  foundation  below ; 
0  come,  let  us  worship  and  kneel 

Before  our  Creator,  our  God  ! 
—  The  people  who  serve  Him  with  zeal, 

—  The  flock  whom  He  guides  with  His  rod. 

As  Moses,  the  fathers  of  old 
Through  the  sea  and  the  wilderness  led, 


222 


SONGS    OF   ZION. 


His  wonderful  works  we  behold, 
With  manna  from  heaven  are  fed : 

To-day,  let  us  hearken,  to-day, 

To  the  voice  that  yet  speaks  from  above, 

And  all  his  commandments  obey, 
For  all  his  commandments  are  love. 

His  wrath  let  us  fear  to  provoke, 

To  dwell  in  his  favour  unite; 
His  service  is  freedom,  his  yoke 

Is  easy,  his  burden  is  light; 
But,  oh  !  of  rebellion  beware, 

Rebellion,  that  hardens  the  breast, 
Lest  God  in  his  anger  should  swear 

That  we  shall  not  enter  his  rest. 


PSALM  C. 

Be  joyful  in  God,  all  ye  lands  of  the  earth ! 

0,  serve  Him  with  gladness  and  fear ! 
Exult  in  his  presence  with  music  and  mirth, 

With  love  and  devotion  draw  near. 

For  Jehovah  is  God, —  and  Jehovah  alone, 

Creator  and  Ruler  o'er  all ; 
And  we  are  his  people,  his  sceptre  we  own ; 

His  sheep,  and  we  follow  his  call. 

0,  enter  his  gates  with  thanksgiving  and  song, 
Your  vows  on  his  temple  proclaim ; 

His  praise  with  melodious  accordance  prolong, 
And  bless  his  adorable  name  ! 

For  good  is  the  Lord,  inexpressibly  good, 
And  we  arc  the  work  of  his  hand; 

His  mercy  and  truth  from  eternity  stood, 
And  shall  to  eternity  stand. 


PSALM  CIII. 

0  my  soul !  with  all  thy  powers, 

Bless  the  Lord's  most  holy  name  ; 
0  my  soul !  till  life's  last  hours, 

Bless  the  Lord,  his  praise  proclaim; 
Thine  infirmities  He  heal'd; 
He  thy  peace  and  pardon  seal'd. 


He  with  loving-kindness  crown'd  thee, 

Satisfied  thy  mouth  with  good; 
From  the  snares  of  death  unbound  thee, 
Eagle-like  thy  youth  renew'd  : 
Rich  in  tender  mercy  He, 
Slow  to  wrath,  to  favour  free. 

He  will  not  retain  displeasure, 

Though  awhile  He  hide  his  face; 
Nor  his  God-like  bounty  measure 
By  our  merit,  but  his  grace  : 

As  the  heaven  the  earth  transcends, 
Over  us  his  care  extends. 

Far  as  east  and  west  are  parted, 
He  our  sins  hath  sever'd  thus; 
As  a  father,  loving-hearted, 
Spares  his  son,  He  spareth  us ; 
For  He  knows  our  feeble  frame, 
He  remembers  whence  he  came. 

Mark  the  field-flower,  where  it  groweth, 

Frail  and  beautiful ;  —  anon, 
When  the  south-wind  softly  bloweth, 
Look  again,  —  the  flower  is  gone! 
Such  is  man  ;  his  honours  pass, 
Like  the  glory  of  the  grass. 

From  eternity,  enduring 

To  eternity, —  the  Lord, 
Still  his  people's  bliss  insuring, 
Keeps  his  covenanted  word  ! 
Yea,  with  truth  and  righteousness, 
Children's  children  He  will  bless. 

As  in  heaven,  his  throne  and  dwelling, 

King  on  earth  He  holds  bis  sway; 
Angels  !  ye  in  strength  excelling, 
Bless  the  Lord,  his  voice  obey; 
All  his  works  beneath  the  pole, 
Bless  the  Lord,  with  thee,  my  soul ! 


PSALM  CIV. 

My  soul !  adore  the  Lord  of  might: 

With  uncreated  glory  crown'd, 
And  clad  in  royalty  of  light, 

He  draws  the  curtain'd  heavens  around ; 
Dark  waters  his  pavilion  form, 
Clouds  are  his  cars,  his  wheels  the  storm. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


223 


Lightuiug  before  Him,  and  behind 
Thunder  rebounding  to  and  fro  ; 
He  walks  upon  the  winged  wind, 
And  reins  the  blast,  or  lets  it  go  ; 

—  This  goodly  globe  his  wisdom  plann'd, 
He  fix'd  the  bounds  of  sea  and  land. 

When  o'er  a  guilty  world,  of  old, 

He  summon'd  the  avenging  main, 
At  his  rebuke  the  billows  roll'd 
Back  to  their  parent  gulf  again  ; 

The  mountains  raised  their  joyful  heads, 
Like  new  creations,  from  their  beds. 

Thenceforth  the  self-revolving  tide 
Its  daily  fall  and  flow  maintains  ; 
Through  winding  vales  fresh  fountains  glide, 
Leap  from  the  hills,  or  course  the  plains  ; 
There  thirsty  cattle  throng  the  brink, 
And  the  wild  asses  bend  to  drink. 

Fed  by  the  currents,  fruitful  groves 

Expand  their  leaves,  their  fragrance  fling, 
Where  the  cool  breeze  at  noon-tide  roves, 
And  birds  among  the  branches  sing; 
Soft  fall  the  showers  when  day  declines, 
And  sweet  the  peaceful  rainbow  shines. 

Grass  through  the  meadows,  rich  with  flowers, 
God's  bounty  spreads  for  herds  and  flocks : 
On  Lebanon  his  cedar  towers, 

The  wild  goats  bound  upon  his  rocks  ; 
Fowls  in  his  forests  build  their  nests, — 
The  stork  amid  the  pine-tree  rests. 

To  strengthen  man  condemn'd  to  toil, 
He  fills  with  grain  the  golden  ear  ; 
Bids  the  ripe  olive  melt  with  oil, 
And  swells  the  grape,  man's  heart  to  cheer; 
—  The  moon  her  tide  of  changing  knows, 
Her  orb  with  lustre  ebbs  and  flows. 

The  sun  goes  down,  the  stars  come  out; 

He  maketh  darkness,  and  'tis  night; 
Then  roam  the  beasts  of  prey  about, 
The  desert  rings  with  chase  and  flight: 
The  lion,  and  the  lion's  brood, 
Look  up,— and  God  provides  them  food. 


Morn  dawns  far  east;  ere  long  the  sun 

Warms  the  glad  nations  with  his  beams ; 
Day,  in  their  dens,  the  spoilers  shun, 
And  night  returns  to  them  in  dreams  : 
Man  from  his  couch  to  labour  goes, 
Till  evening  brings  again  repose  ! 

How  manifold  thy  works,  0  Lord  ! 

In  wisdom,  power,  and  goodness  wrought  ; 
The  earth  is  with  thy  riches  stored, 
And  ocean  with  thy  wonders  fraught; 
Unfathom'd  caves  beneath  the  deep 
For  thee  their  hidden  treasures  keep. 

There  go  the  ships,  with  sails  unfurl'd, 

By  Thee  directed  on  their  way; 
There,  in  his  own  mysterious  world, 
Leviathan  delights  to  play; 

And  tribes  that  range  immensity, 
Unknown  to  man,  are  known  to  Thee. 

By  Thee  alone  the  living  live; 

Hide  but  thy  face,  their  comforts  fly ; 
They  gather  what  thy  seasons  give; 

Take  Thou  away  their  breath,  they  die  : 
Send  forth  thy  Spirit  from  above, 
And  all  is  life  again,  and  love. 

Joy  in  his  works  Jehovah  takes, 
Yet  to  destruction  they  return; 
He  looks  upon  the  earth,  it  quakes  ; 

Touches  the  mountains,  and  they  burn  : 
—  Thou,  God  !  for  ever  art  the  same; 
I  AM  is  thine  unchanging  name. 


PSALM  CVII. 

Thank  and  praise  Jehovah's  name, 
For  his  mercies,  firm  and  sure, 

From  eternity,  the  same, 
To  eternity  endure. 

Let  the  ransom'd  thus  rejoice, 
Gather'd  out  of  every  land  ; 

As  the  people  of  his  choice, 

Pluck'd  from  the  destroyer's  hand. 


224 


SONGS    OF    ZIOX. 


In  the  wilderness  astray, 

0  that  men  woulcPpraise  the  Lord, 

Hither,  thither,  while  they  roam, 

For  his  goodness  to  their  race : 

Hungry,  fainting  by  the  way, 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 

Far  from  refuge,  shelter,  home  :  — 

And  the  riches  of  his  grace ! 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry, 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 

Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

PSALM  CVII. 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

No.  3. 

To  a  pleasant  land  He  brings, 

Where  the  vine  and  olive  grow, 

Fools,  for  their  transgression,  see 

Sharp  disease  their  youth  consume, 

Where  from  flowery  hills  the  springs 

Through  luxuriant  valleys  flow. 

And  their  beauty,  like  a  tree, 

Withering  o'er  an  early  tomb. 

0  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 

Food  is  loathsome  to  their  taste, 

For  his  goodness  to  their  race  ; 

And  the  eye  revolts  from  light; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 

All  their  joys  to  ruin  haste, 

And  the  riches  of  his  grace ! 

As  the  sunset  into  night. 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry ; 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 

PSALM  CVII. 

Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

No.  2. 

He  with  health  renews  their  frame, 

They  that  mourn  in  dungeon  gloom, 

Lengthens  out  their  number'd  days; 

Bound  in  iron  and  despair, 

Let  them  glorify  his  name 

Sentenced  to  a  heavier  doom 

With  the  sacrifice  of  praise. 

Than  the  pangs  they  suffer  there;  — 

0  that  men  would  praise  the  Lord, 

Foes  and  rebels  once  to  God, 

For  his  goodness  to  their  race  ; 

They  disdain'd  his  high  control  ; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 

Now  they  feel  his  fiery  rod 

And  the  riches  of  his  grace  ! 

Striking  terrors  through  their  soul. 

Wrung  with  agony,  they  fall 

To  the  dust,  and,  gazing  round, 

PSALM  CVII. 

Call  for  help  ;  —  in  vain  they  call, 

Help,  nor  hope,  nor  friend  are  found. 

No.  4. 

Then  unto  the  Lord  they  cry; 

They  that  toil  upon  the  deep, 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 

And  in  vessels  light  and  frail, 

Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

O'er  the  mighty  waters  sweep 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

With  the  billow  and  the  gale, — 

He  restores  their  forfeit  breath, 

Mark  what  wonders  God  performs, 

Breaks  in  twain  the  gates  of  brass; 

When  He  speaks,  and,  unconfined, 

From  the  bands  and  grasp  of  death, 

Rush  to  battle  all  his  storms 

Forth  to  liberty  they  pass. 

In  the  chariots  of  the  wind. 

SONGS    OF   ZION. 


225 


Up  to  heaven  their  bark  is  whirl'd 
On  the  mountain  of  the  -wave; 

Down  as  suddenly  'tis  hurl'd 
To  the'  abysses  of  the  grave. 

To  and  fro  they  reel,  they  roll, 
As  intoxicate  with  wine; 

Terrors  paralyse  their  soul, 

Helm  they  quit,  and  hope  resign. 

Then  unto  the  Lonn  they  cry ; 

He  inclines  a  gracious  ear, 
Sends  deliverance  from  on  high, 

Rescues  them  from  all  their  fear. 

Calm  and  smooth  the  surges  flow, 
And,  where  deadly  lightning  ran, 

God's  own  reconciling  bow 
Metes  the  ocean  with  a  span. 

0  that  men  would  praise  the  Loud 
For  his  goodness  to  their  race; 

For  the  wonders  of  his  word, 
And  the  riches  of  his  grace  ! 


PSALM  CVII. 

No.  5. 

Let  the  elders  praise  the  Loud, 
Him  let  all  the  people  praise, 

When  they  meet  with  one  accord 
In  his  courts,  on  holy  days. 

God  for  sin  will  vengeance  take, 
Smite  the  earth  with  sore  distress, 

And  a  fruitful  region  make 
As  the  howling  wilderness. 

But  when  mercy  stays  his  hand, 
Famine,  plague,  and  death  depart  ; 

Yea,  the  rock,  at  his  command, 
Pours  a  river  from  its  heart. 

There  the  hungry  dwell  in  peace, 
Cities  build,  and  plough  the  ground, 

While  their  flocks  and  herds  increase, 
And  their  corn  and  wine  abound. 
15 


Should  they  yet  rebel, —  his  arm 
Lays  their  pride  again  in  dust: 

But  the  poor  He  shields  from  harm, 
And  in  Him  the  righteous  trust. 

Whoso  wisely  marks  his  will, 
Thus  evolving  bliss  from  woe, 

Shall,  redeem'd  from  every  ill, 
All  his  loving-kindness  know. 


PSALM  CXIII. 

Servants  of  God  !  in  joyful  lays 
Sing  ye  the  Lord  Jehovah's  praise; 
His  glorious  name  let  all  adore, 
From  age  to  age,  for  evermore. 

Blest  be  that  name,  supremely  blest, 
From  the  sun's  rising  to  its  rest; 
Above  the  heavens  his  power  is  known, 
Through  all  the  earth  his  goodness  shown. 

Who  is  like  God  ?  —  so  great,  so  high, 
He  bows  Himself  to  view  the  sky, 
And  yet,  with  condescending  grace, 
Looks  down  upon  the  human  race. 

He  hears  the  uncomplaining  moan 
Of  those  who  sit  and  weep  alone; 
He  lifts  the  mourner  from  the  dust, 
And  saves  the  poor  in  Him  that  trust. 

Servants  of  God  !  in  joyful  lays 
Sing  ye  the  Lord  Jehovah's  praise; 
His  saving  name  let  all  adore, 
From  age  to  age,  for  evermore. 


PSALM  CXVI. 

I  love  the  Lord;  —  He  lent  an  ear 

When  I  for  help  implored; 
He  rescued  me  from  all  my  fear; 

Therefore  I  love  the  Lord. 

Bound  hand  and  foot  with  chains  of  sin, 
Death  dragg'd  me  for  his  prey; 

The  pit  was  moved  to  take  me  in; 
All  hope  was  far  away. 


226 


SONGS    OF    ZIOX. 


I  cried  in  agony  of  mind, 

"Lord  !  I  beseech  Thee,  save  :" 

He  heard  me;  — Death  his  prey  resign'd, 
And  Mercy  shut  the  grave. 

Return,  my  soul !  unto  tby  rest, 

From  God  no  longer  roam  : 
His  hand  hath  bountifully  blest, 

His  goodness  call'd  thee  home. 

What  shall  I  render  unto  Thee, 

My  Saviour  in  distress, 
For  all  thy  benefits  to  me, 

So  great  and  numberless  ? 

This  will  I  do,  for  thy  love's  sake, 
And  thus  thy  power  proclaim ;  — 

The  sacramental  cup  I  '11  take, 
And  call  upon  thy  name. 

Thou  God  of  covenanted  grace, 

Hear  and  record  my  vow, 
While  in  thy  courts  I  seek  thy  face, 

And  at  thine  altar  bow:  — 

Henceforth  to  Thee  myself  I  give ; 

With  single  heart  and  eye, 
To  walk  before  Thee  while  I  live, 

And  bless  Thee  when  I  die. 


PSALM  CXVII. 

All  ye  Gentiles,  praise  the  Lord  ; 

All  ye  lands,  your  voices  raise : 
Heaven  and  earth,  with  loud  accord, 

Praise  the  Lord,  for  ever  praise ! 

For  his  truth  and  mercy  stand, 
Past,  and  present,  and  to  be, 

Like  the  years  of  his  right  hand, 
Like  his  own  eternity. 

Praise  Him,  ye  who  know  his  love, 
Praise  Him  from  the  depths  beneath, 

Praise  Him  in  the  heights  above; 
Praise  your  Maker,  all  that  breathe  ! 


PSALM  CXXI. 

Encompass'd  with  ten  thousand  ills, 

Press'd  by  pursuing  foes, 
I  lift  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills 

From  whence  salvation  flows. 

My  help  is  from  the  Lord,  who  made 
And  governs  earth  and  sky; 

I  look  to  his  almighty  aid, 
And  ever-watching  eye. 

He  who  thy  soul  in  safety  keeps 
Shall  drive  destruction  hence; 

The  Lord  thy  keeper  never  sleeps; 
The  Lord  is  thy  defence. 

The  sun,  with  his  afflictive  light, 
Shall  harm  thee  not  by  day  ; 

Nor  thee  the  moon  molest  by  night 
Along  thy  tranquil  way. 

Thee  shall  the  Lord  preserve  from  sin, 

And  comfort  in  distress ; 
Thy  going  out  and  coming  in, 

The  Lord  thy  God  shall  bless. 


PSALM  CXXII. 

Glad  was  my  heart  to  hear 

My  old  companions  say, 
Come  —  in  the  house  of  God  appear, 

For  'tis  an  holy  day. 

Our  willing  feet  shall  stand 

Within  the  temple  door, 
While  young  and  old,  in  many  a  band, 

Shall  throng  the  sacred  floor. 

Thither  the  tribes  repair, 
Where  all  are  wont  to  meet, 

And,  joyful  in  the  house  of  prayer, 
Bend  at  the  mercy-seat. 

Pray  for  Jerusalem, 

The  city  of  our  God  ; 
The  Lord  from  heaven  be  kind  to  them 

That  love  the  dear  abode. 


SONGS   OF   ZION. 


227 


Within  these  walls  may  peace 

As  round  about  Jerusalem 

And  harmony  be  found; 

The  guardian  mountains  stand, 

Zion  !  in  all  thy  palaces, 

So  shall  the  Lord  encompass  them 

Prosperity  abound ! 

Who  hold  by  his  right  hand. 

For  friends  and  brethren  dear, 

The  rod  of  wickedness  shall  ne'er 

Our  prayer  shall  never  cease ; 
Oft  as  they  meet  for  worship  here, 

Against  the  just  prevail, 
Lest  innocence  should  find  a  snare, 

God  send  his  people  peace  ! 

And  tempted  virtue  fail. 

Do  good,  0  Lord  !  do  good  to  those 

Who  cleave  to  Thee  in  heart, 

PSALM  CXXIV. 

Who  on  thy  truth  alone  repose, 

The  Lord  is  on  our  side, 

Nor  from  thy  law  depart. 

His  people  now  may  say; 

The  Lord  is  on  our  side, —  or  we 

While  rebel  souls,  who  turn  aside, 

Had  fall'n  a  sudden  prey. 

Thine  anger  shall  destroy, 

Do  Thou  in  peace  thy  people  guide 

Sin,  Satan,  Death,  and  Hell, 

To  thine  eternal  joy. 

Like  fire,  against  us  rose  ; 

Then  had  the  flames  consumed  us  quick, 

But  God  repell'd  our  foes. 

Like  water  they  return'd, 

PSALM  CXXVI. 

When  wildest  tempests  rave  ; 

Then  had  the  floods  gone  o'er  our  head, 

When  God  from  sin's  captivity 

But  God  was  there  to  save. 

Sets  his  afflicted  people  free, 

Lost  in  amaze,  their  mercies  seem 

From  jeopardy  redeem'd, 

The  transient  raptures  of  a  dream. 

As  from  the  lion's  wrath, 

Mercy  and  truth  uphold  our  life, 

And  safety  guards  our  path. 

But  soon  their  ransom'd  souls  rejoice, 

And  mirth  and'musio  swell  their  voice, 

Our  soul  escaped  the  toils  ; 

Till  foes  confess,  nor  dare  condemn, 

As  from  the  fowler's  snare, 

"The  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  them." 

The  bird,  with  disentangled  wings, 

Flits  through  the  boundless  air. 

They  catch  the  strain,  and  answer  thus, — 

"The  Lord  hath  done  great  things  for  us; 

Our  help  is  from  the  Lord  ; 

Whence  gladness  fills  our  hearts,  and  songs, 

In  Him  we  will  confide, 

Sweet  and  spontaneous,  wake  our  tongues." 

Who  stretch'd  the  heavens,  who  form'd  the  earth  ; 

—  The  Lord  is  on  our  side. 

Turn  our  captivity,  0  Lord  ! 

As  southern  rivers,  at  thy  word, 
Bound  from  their  channels,  and  restore 

PSALM  CXXV. 

Plenty,  where  all  was  waste  before. 

Who  makes  the  Lord  of  Hosts  their  tower, 

Who  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy  ; 
Nought  shall  the  precious  seed  destroy, 

Shall  like  Mount  Zion  be, 

Immovable  by  mortal  power, 

Nor  long  the  weeping  exiles  roam, 

Built  on  eternity. 

But  bring  their  sheaves  rejoicing  home. 

228 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


PSALM  CXXX. 

Out  of  the  depths  of  woe 

To  Thee,  0  Lord  !  I  cry ; 
Darkness  surrounds  me,  but  I  know 

That  Thou  art  ever  nigh. 

Then  hearken  to  my  voice, 

Give  ear  to  my  complaint; 
Thou  bidst  the  mourning  soul  rejoice, 
Thou  comfortcst  the  faint. 

I  cast  my  hope  on  Thee  ; 

Thou  canst,  Thou  wilt,  forgive : 
Wert  Thou  to  mark  iniquity, 

Who  in  Thy  sight  could  live? 

Humbly  on  Thee  I  wait, 

Confessing  all  my  sin  : 
Lord  !  I  am  knocking  at  thy  gate ; 

Open,  and  take  me  in  ! 

Like  them,  whose  longing  eyes 

Watch,  till  the  morning  star 
(Though  late,  and  seen  through  tempests)  rise, 

Heaven's  portals  to  unbar  : 

Like  them  I  watch  and  pray, 

And,  though  it  tarry  long, 
Catch  the  first  gleam  of  welcome  day, 

Then  burst  into  a  song. 

Glory  to  God  above  ! 

The  waters  soon  will  cease : 
For,  lo !  the  swift-returning  dove 

Brings  home  the  sign  of  peace. 

Though  storms  his  face  obscure, 

And  dangers  threaten  loud, 
Jehovah's  covenant  is  sure, 

His  bow  is  in  the  cloud. 


PSALM  CXXXI. 

Lord  !  for  ever  at  thy  side 
Let  my  place  and  portion  be  : 

Strip  me  of  the  robe  of  pride, 
Clothe  me  with  humility. 


Meekly  may  my  soul  receive 
All  thy  Spirit  hath  rcvcal'd; 

Thou  hast  spoken,— I  believe, 
Though  the  prophecy  were  seal'd. 

Quiet  as  a  weaned  child, 

Weaned  from  the  mother's  breast; 
By  no  subtilty  beguiled, 

On  thy  faithful  word  I  rest. 

Saints  !  rejoicing  evermore, 
In  the  Lord  Jehovah  trust; 

Him  in  all  his  ways  adore, 

Wise,  and  wonderful,  and  just. 


PSALM  CXXXII. 
No.  1. 

God  in  his  temple  let  us  meet, 
Low  on  our  knees  before  Him  bend ; 

Here  hath  he  fix'd  his  mercy-seat, 
Here  on  his  Sabbath  we  attend. 

Arise  into  thy  resting-place, 

Thou,  and  thine  ark  of  strength,  0  Lord  ! 
Shine  through  the  veil,  we  seek  thy  face ; 

Speak,  for  we  hearken  to  thy  word. 

With  righteousness  thy  priests  array  ; 

Joyful  tby  chosen  people  be  ; 
Let  those  who  teach  and  those  who  pray, 

Let  all  — be  holiness  to  Thee  ! 


PSALM  CXXXII. 
No.  2. 

Lord  !  for  thy  servant  David's  sake, 
Perform  thine  oath  to  David's  Son;  — 

Thy  truth  Thou  never  wilt  forsake  ;  — 
Look  on  thine  own  Anointed  One  ! 

The  Lord  in  faithfulness  hath  sworn 
His  throne  for  ever  to  maintain ; 

From  realm  to  realm,  the  sceptre  borne 
Shall  stretch  o'er  earth  Messiah's  reign. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 


229 


Zion,  tny  chosen  hill  of  old, 

My  rest,  my  dwelling,  my  delight, 

With  loving-kindness  I  uphold, 
Her  walls  are  ever  in  my  sight. 

I  satisfy  her  poor  with  bread, 
Iler  tables  with  abundance  bless, 

Joy  on  her  sons  and  daughters  shed, 

And  clothe  her  priests  with  righteousness. 

There  David's  horn  shall  bud  and  bloom, 
The  branch  of  glory  and  renown ; 

His  foes  my  vengeance  shall  consume; 
Him  with  eternal  years  I  crown. 


PSALM  CXXXIII. 

How  beautiful  the  sight 

Of  brethren  who  agree 
In  friendship  to  unite, 

And  bonds  of  charity  ! 
'Tis  like  the  precious  ointment,  shed 
O'er  all  his  robes,  from  Aaron's  head. 

'Tis  like  the  dews  that  fill 

The  cups  of  Hermon's  flowers ; 

Or  Zion's  fruitful  hill, 

Bright  with  the  drops  of  showers, 

When  mingling  odours  breathe  around, 

And  glory  rests  on  all  the  ground. 

For  there  the  Lord  commands 
Blessings,  a  boundless  store, 

From  his  unsparing  hands  ; 
Yea,  life  for  evermore  : 

Thrice  happy  they  who  meet  above 

To  spend  eternity  in  love  ! 


PSALM  exxxrv. 

Bless  ye  the  Lord  with  solemn  rite, 
In  hymns  extol  his  name, 

Ye  who,  within  his  house  by  night, 
Watch  round  the  altar's  flame. 

Lift  up  your  hands  amid  the  place 
Where  burns  the  sacred  sign, 

And  pray  that  thus  Jehovah's  face 
O'er  all  the  earth  may  shine. 


From  Zion,  from  his  holy  hill, 
The  Lord  our  Maker  send 

The  perfect  knowledge  of  his  will, 
Salvation  without  end! 


PSALM  CXXXVII. 

Where  Babylon's  broad  rivers  roll, 

In  exile  we  sat  down  to  weep, 
For  thoughts  of  Zion  o'er  our  soul 

Came  like  departed  joys,  in  sleep, 
Whose  forms  to  sad  remembrance  rise, 
Though  fled  for  ever  from  our  eyes. 

Our  harps  upon  the  willows  hung, 

Where,  worn  with  toil,  our  limbs  reclined ; 

The  chords,  untuned  and  trembling,  rung 
With  mournful  music  on  the  wind ; 

While  foes,  insulting  o'er  our  wrongs, 

Cried, —  "  Sing  us  one  of  Zion's  songs." 

How  can  we  sing  the  songs  we  love, 
Far  from  our  own  delightful  land  ?  — 

If  I  prefer  thee  not  above 

My  chiefest  joy,  may  this  right  hand, 

Jerusalem  !  forget  its  skill, 

My  tongue  be  dumb,  my  pulse  be  still ! 


PSALM  CXXXVIII. 

Thee  will  I  praise,  0  Lord  !  in  light, 
Where  seraphim  surround  thy  throne; 

With  heart  and  soul,  with  mind  and  might, 
Thee  will  I  worship,  Thee  alone. 

I  bow  toward  thy  holy  place  ; 

For  Thou,  in  mercy  still  the  same, 
Hast  magnified  thy  word  of  grace 

O'er  all  the  wonders  of  thy  name. 

In  peril,  when  I  cried  to  Thee, 

How  did  thy  strength  renew  my  soul  ! 

Kings  and  their  realms  might  bend  the  knee, 
Could  I  to  man  reveal  the  whole. 


230 


SONGS   OF    ZIOX. 


Thou,  Loud!  above  all  height  art  high, 
Yet  with  the  lowly  wilt  Thou  dwell ; 

The  proud  far  off,  thy  jealous  eye 
Shall  mark,  and  with  a  look  repel. 

Though  in  the  depth  of  trouble  thrown, 
With  grief  I  shall  not  always  strive  ; 

Thou  wilt  thy  suffering  servant  own, 
And  Thou  the  contrite  heart  revive. 

Thy  purpose,  then,  in  me  fulfil  ; 

Forsake  me  not,  for  I  am  thine; 
Perfect  in  me  thine  utmost  will ;  — 

Whate'er  it  be,  that  will  be  mine ! 


PSALM  CXXXIX. 

Searcher  of  hearts  !  to  Thee  are  known 
The  inmost  secrets  of  my  breast: 

At  home,  abroad,  in  crowds,  alone, 
Thou  mark'st  my  rising  and  my  rest, 

My  thoughts  far  off,  through  every  maze, 

Source,  stream,  and  issue, —  all  my  ways. 

No  word  that  from  my  mouth  proceeds, 
Evil  or  good,  escapes  thine  ear; 

Witness  Thou  art  to  all  my  deeds, 
Before,  behind,  for  ever  near  : 

Such  knowledge  is  for  me  too  high  : 

I  live  but  in  my  Maker's  eye. 

How  from  thy  presence  should  I  go, 
Or  whither  from  thy  Spirit  flee, 

Since  all  above,  around,  below, 
Exist  in  thine  immensity  ?  — 

If  up  to  heaven  I  take  my  way, 

I  meet  Thee  in  eternal  day. 

If  in  the  grave  I  make  my  bed 

AYith  worms  and  dust,  lo  !  Thou  art  there  : 
If,  on  the  wings  of  morning  sped, 

Beyond  the  ocean  I  repair, 
I  feel  thine  all-controlling  will, 
And  thy  right  hand  upholds  me  still. 

"Let  darkness  hide  me,"  if  I  say, 
Darkness  can  no  concealment  be; 


Night,  on  thy  rising,  shines  like  day, 

Darkness  and  light  are  one  with  Thee; 
For  Thou  mine  embryo-form  didst  view 
Ere  her  own  babe  my  mother  knew. 

In  me  thy  workmanship  display'd, 

A  miracle  of  power  I  stand  ; 
Fearfully,  wonderfully  made, 

And  framed  in  secret  by  thy  hand ; 
I  lived,  ere  into  being  brought, 
Through  thine  eternity  of  thought. 

How  precious  are  thy  thoughts  of  peace, 
0  God,  to  mo  !  how  great  the  sum  ! 

New  every  morn,  they  never  cease; 

They  were,  they  are,  and  yet  shall  come, 

In  number  and  in  compass,  more 

Than  ocean's  sand,  or  ocean's  shore. 

Search  me,  0  God  !  and  know  my  heart ; 

Try  me,  my  secret  soul  survey, 
And  warn  thy  servant  to  depart 

From  every  false  and  evil  way; 
So  shall  thy  truth  my  guidance  be 
To  life  and  immortality. 


PSALM  CXLI. 

Lord  !  let  my  prayer  like  incense  rise, 
And  when  I  lift  my  hands  to  Thee, 

As  on  the  evening  sacrifice, 

Look  down  from  heaven,  well-pleased,  on  me. 

Set  Thou  a  watch  to  keep  my  tongue, 

Let  not  my  heart  to  sin  incline  ; 
Save  me  from  men  who  practise  wrong, 

Let  me  not  share  their  mirth  and  wine. 

But  let  the  righteous,  when  I  stray, 

Smite  me  in  love  ;  —  his  strokes  are  kind; 

His  mild  reproofs,  like  oil,  allay 

The  wounds  they  make,  and  heal  the  mind. 

Mine  eyes  are  unto  Thee,  my  God  ! 

Behold  me  humbled  in  the  dust; 
I  kiss  the  hand  that  wields  the  rod, 

I  own  thy  chastisements  are  just. 


SONGS    OF    ZION. 

231 

But,  oh  !  redeem  rue  from  the  snares 

Yet,  in  the  gloom  of  silent  thought, 

With  which  the  world  surrounds  my  feet; 

I  call  to  mind  what  God  hath  wrought, 

Its  riches,  vanities,  and  cares, 

Thy  wonders  in  the  days  of  old, 

Its  love,  its  hatred,  its  deceit. 

Thy  mercies  great  and  manifold. 

Ah  !  then  to  Thee  I  stretch  my  hands, 

PSALM  CXLII. 

Like  failing  streams  through  desert-sands . 
I  thirst  for  Thee,  as  harvest-plains 

I  cried  unto  the  LonD  most  just, 

Parch'd  by  the  summer  thirst  for  rains. 

Most  merciful,  in  prayer  ; 

I  cried  unto  Him  from  the  dust, 

Oh  !  let  me  not  thus  helpless  lie, 

I  told  him  my  despair. 

Like  one  condemn'd  at  morn  to  die, 
But  with  the  morning  may  I  see 

When  sunk  my  soul  within  me, —  then 

Thy  loving-kindness  visit  me. 

Thou  knew'st  the  path  I  chose; 

Unharm'd  I  pass  the  spoiler's  den, 
I  walk'd  through  ambush'd  foes. 

Teach  me  thy  will,  subdue  my  own ; 
Thou  art  my  God,  and  Thou  alone; 

I  look'd  for  friends, —  there  was  not  one 
In  sorrow  to  condole; 

By  thy  good  Spirit  guide  me  still, 
Safe  from  all  foes,  to  Zion's  hill. 

I  look'd  for  refuge, —  there  was  none  ; 
None  cared  for  my  soul. 

Release  my  soul  from  trouble,  Lord  ! 
Quicken  and  keep  me  by  thy  word  ; 

I  cried  unto  the  Lord  ;  I  said, — 
Thou  art  my  refuge  ;  Thou, 

May  all  its  promises  be  mine  ! 

Be  Thou  my  portion  —  I  am  thine. 

My  portion ;  —  hasten  to  mine  aid ; 

Hear  and  deliver  now. 
Now,  from  the  dungeon,  from  the  grave, 

Exalt  thy  suppliant's  head  ; 

PSALM  CXLV. 

Thy  voice  is  freedom  to  the  slave, 

Kevival  to  the  dead. 

The  Lord  is  gracious  to  forgive, 
And  slow  to  let  his  anger  move; 
The  Lord  is  good  to  all  that  live, 

PSALM  CXLIII. 

And  all  his  tender  mercy  prove. 

Hear  me,  0  Lord  !  in  my  distress, 
Hear  me  in  truth  and  righteousness ; 
For,  at  thy  bar  of  judgment  tried, 
None  living  can  be  justified. 

Thy  works,  0  God  !  thy  praise  proclaim  ; 
The  saints  thy  wondrous  deeds  shall  sing, 
Extol  thy  power,  and  to  thy  name 
Homage  from  every  nation  bring. 

Lord  !  I  have  foes  without,  within, 

Glorious  in  majesty  art  Thou; 

The  world,  the  flesh,  indwelling  sin, 

Thy  throne  for  ever  shall  endure  ; 

Life's  daily  ills,  temptation's  power, 

Angels  before  thy  footstool  bow, 

And  Satan  roaring  to  devour. 

Yet  dost  Thou  not  despise  the  poor. 

These,  these  my  fainting  soul  surround, 

The  Lord  upholdeth  them  that  fall; 

My  strength  is  smitten  to  the  ground  ; 

He  raiseth  men  of  low  degree; 

Like  those  long  dead,  beneath  their  weight 

0  God  !  our  health,  the  eyes  of  all, 

Crush'd  is  my  heart  and  desolate. 

Of  all  the  living,  wait  on  Thee. 

232 


SONGS    OF   ZION. 


Thou  openest  thine  exhaustless  store, 
And  rainest  food  on  every  land; 
The  dumb  creation  Thee  adore, 
And  eat  their  portion  from  thy  hand. 

Man,  most  indebted,  most  ingrate, 
Man  only  is  a  rebel  here : 
Teach  him  to  know  Thee,  ere  too  late; 
Teach  him  to  love  Thee,  and  to  fear. 


PSALM  CXLVI. 

Praise  ye  the  Lord,  from  pole  to  pole ! 
Praise  thou  the  Lord,  my  soul,  my  soul ! 
Long  as  I  live,  my  voice  shall  raise, 
My  pulse  repeat,  the  song  of  praise. 

In  men,  in  princes,  put  no  trust  j 
Their  breath  goes  forth,  they  turn  to  dust; 
Then,  fleeting  like  the  flower  of  grass, 
Perish  their  thoughts,  their  glories  pass. 

Thrice  happy  he  whose  heart  can  say 
"  The  God  of  Jacob  is  my  stay ; 
The  Lord  of  Hosts  my  help  shall  be, 
Who  made  the  heaven,  the  earth,  the  sea." 

The  Lord  avenges  the  opprest, 
He  sends  the  wandering  stranger  rest ; 
The  Lord  unbinds  the  prisoner's  chain, 
He  sets  the  fallen  up  again. 

The  Lord  restores  the  blind  to  sight, 
Gives  strength  to  them  that  have  no  might: 
The  Lord  relieves,  in  their  distress, 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless. 

The  Lord  supplies  the  poor  with  food, 
He  loves  to  do  the  righteous  good; 
But  for  the  wicked,  in  his  wrath, 
He  turns  destruction  on  their  path. 

The  Lord  shall  reign  for  evermore, 
Thy  King,  0  Zion  !  —  Him  adore; 
Let  unborn  generations  raise 
To  God,  thy  God,  the  song  of  praise! 


PSALM  CXLVIII. 

Heralds  of  creation  !  cry, — 
Praise  the  Lord,  the  Lord  most  high  ! 
Heaven  and  earth  !  obey  the  call  — 
Praise  the  Lord,  the  Lord  of  all. 

For  He  spake,  and  forth  from  night 
Sprang  the  universe  to  light; 
He  commanded, —  Nature  heard, 
And  stood  fast  upon  his  word. 

Praise  Him,  all  ye  hosts  above ! 
Spirits  perfected  in  love; 
Sun  and  moon !  your  voices  raise, 
Sing,  ye  stars  !  your  Maker's  praise. 

Earth  !  from  all  thy  depths  below, 
Ocean's  hallelujahs  flow; 
Lightning,  vapour,  wind,  and  storm, 
Hail  and  snow,  his  will  perform. 

Vales  and  mountains  !  burst  in  song; 
Pavers  !  roll  with  praise  along; 
Clap  your  hands,  ye  trees !  and  hail 
God,  who  comes  in  every  gale. 

Birds !  on  wings  of  rapture,  soar, 
Warble  at  his  temple-door; 
Joyful  sounds,  from  herds  and  flocks, 
Echo  back,  ye  caves  and  rocks ! 

Kings!  your  Sovereign  serve  with  awe; 
Judges  !  own  his  righteous  law  ; 
Princes!  worship  Him  with  fear; 
Bow  the  knee,  all  people  here  ! 

Let  his  truth  by  babes  be  told, 
And  his  wonders  by  the  old; 
Youths  and  maidens  !  in  your  prime, 
Learn  the  lays  of  heaven  betime. 

High  above  all  height  his  throne, 
Excellent  his  name  alone  ; 
Him  let  all  his  works  confess  ! 
nim  let  every  being  bless ! 


NARRATIVES. 


FAREWELL  TO  AVAR: 


4   PROLOGUE    TO    "LORD    FALKLAND'S    DREAM,"    AND   "ARNOLD 
HE   WIXKELRIED,    OR   THE    PATRIOT'S    PASS-WORD." 

Peace  to  the  trumpet!  —  no  more  shall  my  breath 
Sound  an  alarm  in  the  dull  car  of  death, 
Nor  startle  to  life  from  the  truce  of  the  tomb 
The  relics  of  heroes,  to  combat  till  doom. 
Let  Marathon  sleep  to  the  sound  of  the  sea, 
Let  Hannibal's  spectre  haunt  Cannae  for  me; 
Let  Cressy  and  Agineourt  tremble  with  corn, 
And  Waterloo  blush  with  the  beauty  of  morn ; 
I  turn  not  the  furrow  for  helmets  and  shields, 
Nor  sow  dragon's  teeth  in  their  old  fallow  fields  : 
I  will  not,  as  bards  have  been  wont,  since  the  flood, 
With  the  river  of  song  swell  the  river  of  blood, 
— The  blood  of  the  valiant,  that  fell  in  all  climes, 
— The  song  of  tho  gifted,  that  hallow'd  all  crimes, 
— All  crimes  in  the  war-fiend  incarnate  in  one; 
War,  withering  the  earth  —  war,  eclipsing  the  sun, 
Despoiling,  destroying,  since  discord  began, 
God's  works   and  God's   mercies,  —  man's  labours 
and  man. 

Yet  war  have  I  loved,  and  of  war  have  I  sung, 
With  my  heart  in  my  hand  and   my  soul   on  my 

tongue  ; 
With  all  the  affections  that  render  life  dear, 
With  the  throbbings  of  hope  and  the  flutterings  of 

fear, 

—  Of  hope,  that  the  sword  of  the  brave  might  pre- 

vail, 

—  Of  fear,  lest  the  arm  of  the  righteous  should  fail. 

But  what  was  the  war  that  extorted  my  praise? 
What  battles  were  fought  in  my  chivalrous  lays  ? 
— The  war  against  darkness  contending  with  light; 
The  war  against  violence  trampling  down  right; 


— The  battles  of  patriots,  with  banner  unfurl'd, 
To  guard  a  child's  cradle  against  an  arm'd  world ; 
Of  peasants  that  peopled  their  ancestors'  graves, 
Lest  their  ancestors'  homes  should  be  peopled  by 

slaves. 
I  served,  too,  in  wars  and  campaigns  of  the  mind: 
My  pen  was  the  sword,  which  I  drew  for  mankind ; 

—  In  war  against  tyranny  throned  in  the  West, 

—  Campaigns  to  enfranchise  the  negro  oppress'd; 
In  war  against  war,  on  whatever  pretence, 

For  glory,  dominion,  revenge,  or  defence, 
While  murder  and  perfidy,  rapine  and  lust, 
Laid  provinces  desolate,  cities  in  dust. 

Yes,  war  against  war  was  ever  my  pride; 
My  youth  and  my  manhood  in  waging  it  died, 
And   age,  with  its  weakness,  its   wounds,  and  its 

scars, 
Still  finds  my  free  spirit  unquench'd  as  the  stars, 
And  he  who  would  bend  it  to  war  must  first  bind 
The  waves  of  the  ocean,  the  wings  of  the  wind  ; 
For  I  call  it  not  war  which  war's  counsels  o'erthrows, 
I  call  it  not  war  which  gives  nations  repose; 
'T  is  judgment  brought  down  on  themselves  by  the 

proud, 
Like  lightning,  by  fools,  from  an  innocent  cloud. 

I  war  against  all  war;  —  nor,  till  my  pulse  c 
Will    I    throw  down    my  weapons,  because  I  love 

peace, 
Because  I  love  liberty,  execrate  strife, 
And  dread,  most  of  all  deaths,  that  slow  death  call'd 

life, 
Dragg'd  on  by  a  vassal,  in  purple  or  chains, 
The  breath  of  whose  nostrils,  the  blood  in  whose 

veins, 
He  calls  not  his  own,  nor  holds  from  his  God, 
While  it  haDgs  ou  a  king's  or  a  sycophant's  nod. 

Around  the  mute  trumpet, — no  longer  to  breathe 
War-clangours,  my  latest  war-chaplets  I  wreathe, 


234 


NARRATIVES. 


Then  hang  them  aloof  on  the  time-stricken  oak, 
And  thus,  in  its  shadow,  heaven's  blessing  invoke: — 
"Loud  God  !  since  the  African's  bondage  is  o'er, 
And  war  in  our  borders  is  heard  of  no  more, 
May  never,  while  Britain  adores  Thee,  again 
The  malice  of  fiends  or  the  madness  of  men 
Break  the  peace  of  our  land,  and  by  villanous  wrong 
Find  a  field  for  a  hero,  a  hero  for  song !" 
1S34. 


LORD  FALKLAND'S  DREAM. 

A.  d.  1643. 

" Io  vo  gridando,  Pace !  pace!  pace!" 

Petrarca,  Canzone  agli  principi  cT Italia, 
Esortazione  alia  Pace,  A.D.  13+1.» 

"  In  this  unhappy  battle  [of  Newbury]  was  slain  the  Lord 
Viscount  Falkland,  a  person  of  such  prodigious  parts  of 
learning  and  knowledge,  of  that  inimitable  sweetness  and 
delight  of  conversation,  of  so  flowing  and  obliging  a  hu- 
manity and  goodness  to  mankind,  and  of  that  primitive 
simplicity  and  integrity  of  life,  that  if  there  were  no  other 
brand  upon  this  odious  and  accursed  war,  than  that  single 
loss,  it  must  be  most  infamous  and  execrable  to  all  pos- 
terity. 

'  Turpe  mori,  post  te,  solo  non  posse  dolore.' " 

'•  From  the  entrance  into  that  unnatural  war,  his  natural 
cheerfulness  and  vivacity  grew  clouded;  and  a  kind  of 
sadness  and  dejection  stole  upon  him,  which  he  had  never 

been  used  to After  the  King's  return  to 

Oxford,  and  the  furious  resolution  of  the  two  Ilouscs  not 
to  admit  any  treaty  for  peace,  those  indispositions  which 
had  before  touched  him  grew  into  a  perfect  state  of  un- 
cheerfulness ;  and  he  who  had  been  so  exactly  easy  and 
affable  to  all  men.thathis  face  and  countenancewas  always 
present,  and  vacant  to  his  company,  and  held  any  cloudi- 
ness or  less  pleasantness  of  the  visage  a  kind  of  rudeness 
or  incivility,  became  on  a  sudden  less  communicable,  and 
thence  very  sad,  pale,  and  exceedingly  affected  with  the 
spleen.  In  his  clothes  and  habit,  which  he  minded 
before  with  more  neatness,  and  industry,  and  expense, 
than  is  usual  to  so  great  a  soul,  he  was  not  only  incurious, 
but  too  negligent;  and  in  his  reception  of  suitors,  ami  the 
necessary  and  casual  addresses  to  his  place  (being  then 
Secretary  of  State  to  King  Charles),  so  quick,  and  sharp, 
and  severe,  that  there  wanted  not  some  men  (strangers 
to  his  nature  and  disposition)  who  believed  him  proud 
and  imperious,  from  which  no  mortal  man  was  ever 
more  free," 

*•  When  there  was  any  overture  or  hope  of  peace  he  would 
be  more  erect  and  vigorous,  and  exceedingly  solicitous  to 

1  "I  go  exclaiming,  Peace!  peace!  peace!" — From  Pe- 
trarch's Canzone  to  the  Princes  of  Italy,  entitled  "An 
Exhortation  to  Peace." 


press  anything  which  he  thought  might  promote  it ;  and, 
sitting  among  his  fiiends,  often,  after  a  deep  silence,  and 
frequent  sighs,  would,  with  a  shrill  and  sad  accent,  inge- 
minate the  word  •Peace]  peace!1  and  would  profess  that 
the  very  agony  of  the  war,  and  the  view  of  the  calamities 
and  desolation  the  kingdom  did  and  must  endure,  took 
his  sleep  from  him  and  would  shortly  break  his  heart." 
Clarendon's  History,  vol.  ii.  part  i. 

War,  civil  war,  was  raging  like  a  flood, 
England  lay  weltering  in  her  children's  blood; 
Brother  with  brother  waged  unnatural  strife, 
Sever'd  were  all  the  charities  of  life  : 
Two  passions, —  virtues  they  assumed  to  be, — 
Virtues  they  were, — romantic  loyalty, 
And  stern,  unyielding  patriotism,  possess'd 
Divided  empire  in  the  nation's  breast; 
As  though  two  hearts  might  in  one  body  reign, 
And  urge  conflicting  streams  from  vein  to  vein. 
On  either  side  the  noblest  spirits  fought, 
And  highest  deeds  on  either  side  were  wrought: 
Hampden  in  battle  yesterday  hath  bled, 
Falkland  to-morrow  joins  the  immortal  dead; 
The  one  for  freedom  perish'd  —  not  in  vain; 
The  other  falls  —  a  courtier  without  stain. 

'Twas  on  the  eve  of  Newbury's  doubtful  fight; 
O'er  marshall'd  foes  came  down  the  peace  of  night, 

—  Peace  which,  to  eyes  in  living  slumber  seal'd, 
The  mysteries  of  the  night  to  come  reveal'd, 
When  that  throng'd  plain,  now  warm  with  heaving 

breath, 
Should  lie  in  cold,  fix'd  apathy  of  death. 
Falkland  from  court  and  camp  had  glid  away, 
With  Chaucer's  shade,2  through  Spcenham  woods 

to  stray, 
And  pour  in  solitude,  without  control, 
Through  the  dun  gloom,  the  anguish  of  his  soul. 

—  Falkland,  the  plume  of  England's  chivalry, 
The  just,  the  brave,  the  generous,  and  the  free ! 

—  Nay,  task  not  poetry  to  tell  his  praise, 
Twine  but  a  wreath  of  transitory  bays, 

To  crown  him,  as  he  lives,  from  age  to  age, 

In  Clarendon's  imperishable  page  ; 

Look  there  upon  the  very  man,  and  see 

What  Falkland  was, — what  thou  thyself  shouldst  be; 

Patriot  and  loyalist,  who  veil'd  to  none, 

He  loved  his  country  and  his  king  in  one, 

'J  The  estate  of  Speenhamland,  near  Newbury.  Berks,  is 
said  to  have  been  the  property  and  residence  of  Chaucer. 


NARRATIVES. 


235 


And  could  no  more,  in  his  affections,  part 
That  wedded  pair,  than  pluck  out  half  his  heart: 
Hence  every  wound  that  each  the  other  gave, 
Brought  their  best  servant  nearer  to  the  grave. 
Thither  he  hasten'd,  withering  in  his  prime, — 
The  worm  of  sorrow  wrought  the  work  of  time  ; 
And  England's  woes  had  sunk  him  with  their  weight, 
Had  not  the  swifter  sword  foreclosed  his  date. 

In  sighs  for  her  his  spirit  was  exhaled, 
He  wept  for  her  till  power  of  weeping  failed ; 
Pale,  wasted,  nerveless,  absent,  —  he  appear'd 
To  haunt  the  scenes  which  once  his  presence  cheer'd; 
As  though  some  vampire  from  its  cerements  crept, 
And    drained  health's   fountain   nightly    while    he 

slept ; 
But  he  slept  not;  —  sleep  from  his  eyelids  fled, 
All  restless  as  the  ocean's  foam  his  bed  ; 
The  very  agony  of  war, —  the  guilt 
Of  blood  by  kindred  blood  in  hatred  spilt, — 
Crush'd  heart   and   hope;    till   founding,  tempest- 

toss'd, 
From  gulf  to  deeper  gulfs,  himself  he  lost. 
Yet  when  he  heard  the  drum  to  battle  beat, 
First  at  the  onset,  latest  in  retreat, 
Eager  to  brave  rebellion  to  the  face, 
Or  hunt  out  peril  in  its  hiding-place, 
Falkland  was  slow  to  arm  the'  ignoble  crowd, 
He  sought  to  raise  the  fall's,  strike  down  the  proud, 
Nor  stood  there  one  for  parliament  or  throne 
More  choice  of  meaner  lives,  more  reckless  of  his 

own. 

Oft  from  his  lips  a  shrill  sad  moan  would  start, 
And  cold  misgiving  creep  around  his  heart, 
When  he  beheld  the  plague  of  war  increase, 
And  but  one  word  found  utterance — "  Peace !  peace  ! 
peace ! " 

That  eve  he  wander'd  in  his  wayward  mood, 
Through  thoughts  more  wildering  than  the  maze  of 

wood, 
Where,  when  the  moon-beam  flitted  o'er  his  face, 
ne  seem'd  the'  unquiet  spectre  of  the  place  : 
Rank  thorns   and  briars,  the  rose  and  woodbine's 

bloom, 
Perplex'd   his   path   through  checker'd   light  and 

gloom, 
Himself  insensible  of  gloom  or  light, 
Darkness  within  made  all  around  him  night; 


Till  the  green  beauty  of  a  little  glade, 
That  opened  up  to  heaven,  his  footsteps  stay'd : 
Eye,  breath,  and  pulse,  the  sweet  enchantment  felt, 
His  heart  with  tenderness  began  to  melt ; 
Trembling,  he  lean'd  against  a  Druid  oak, 
Whose  boughs  bare  token  of  the  thunder-stroke, 
With  root  unshaken,  and  with  bole  unbroke : 
Then  thus,  while  hope  almost  forgot  despair, 
Breathed  his  soul's  burden  on  the  tranquil  air :  — 

"  0  Britain  !  Britain  !  to  thyself  be  true  ; 
Land  which  the  Roman  never  could  subdue : 
Oft  though  he  pass'd  thy  sons  beneath  the  yoke, 
As  oft  thy  sons  the  spears  they  bow'd  to  broke  ; 
Others  with  home-wrought  chains  he  proudly  bound, 
His  own  too  weak  to  fetter  thee  he  found  ; 
Though  garrison'd  by  legions,  legions  fail'd 
To  quell  thy  spirit, —  thy  spirit  again  prevail'd. 
By  him  abandon'd,  island-martyr  !  doom'd 
To  prove  the  fires  of  ages  unconsumed, 
Though  Saxon,  Dane,  Norwegian,  Gallic  hordes, 
In  dire  succession,  gave  thee  laws  and  lords, 
Conqucr'd  themselves  by  peace,  —  in  every  field, 
The  victor  to  the  vanquish'd  lost  his  shield. 
To  win  my  country,  to  usurp  her  throne, 
Canute  and  William  must  forsake  their  own  ; 
Invading  rivers  thus  roll  back  the  sea, 
Then  lose  themselves  in  its  immensity. 

"But  'twas  thine  own  distractions  lent  them  aid, 
Enslaved  by  strangers,  because  self-betray'd  ; 
Still  self-distracted  ;  —  yet  should  foreign  foe 
Land  now,  another  spirit  thy  sons  would  show ; 
King,  nobles,  parliament,  and  people,  —  all, 
Like  the  Red  Sea's  returning  waves,  would  fall, 
And  with  one  burst  o'erwhehn  the  mightiest  host. 
— Would  such  a  foe  tins  hour  were  on  thy  coast ! 

"How  oft,  0  Albion  !  since  those  twilight  times, 
Have  wars  intestine  laid  thee  waste  with  crimes  ! 
Tweed's  borderers  were  hereditary  foes, 
Nor  can  one  crown  even  now  their  feuds  compose ; 
Thy  peasantry  were  serfs  to  vassal  lords, 
Yoked  with  their  oxen,  tether'd  to  their  swords: 
Round  their  cross  banners  kings  thy  bowmen  ranged, 
Till  York  and  Lancaster  their  roses  changed. 
Those  days,  thank  Heaven  !  those  evil  days  are  past, 
Yet  wilt  thou  fall  by  suicide  at  last  ? 
0  England  !  England  !  from  such  frenzy  cease, 
And  on  thyself  have  mercy, — Peace!  peace!  peace!" 


"Who  talks  of  Peace?  —  sweet  Peace  is   in  her 
grave : 
Save  a  lone  widow, —  from  her  offspring  save  !  " 
Exclaim'd  a  voice,  scarce  earthly,  in  his  ear, 
Withering  his  nerves  with  unaecustom'd  fear; 
Hi-  hand  was  on  his  sword,  but,  ere  he  drew 
The  starting  blade,  a  suppliant  cross'd  his  view ; 
Forth  from  the  forest  rush'd  a  female  form, 
Like  the  moon's  image,  hurrying  through  the  storm  ; 
Down  in  a  moment,  at  his  feet,  aghast, 
Lock'd  to  his  smiting  knees,  herself  she  cast, 
Rent  were  her  garments,  and  her  hair  unbound. 
All  fleck'd  with  blood  from  many  an  unstaunch'd 
Inflicted  by  the  very  hands  that  press'd,      [wound, 
In  rose-lipp'd  iufaney,  her  yearning  breast ; 
And  ever  and  anon  she  look'd  behind, 
As  though  pursuing  voices  swell'd  the  wind ; 
Then  shriek'd  insanely, —  "  Peace  is  in  her  grave  ! 
Save  a  lost  mother, —  from  her  children  save  !  " 
Wan  with  heart-sickness,  ready  to  expire, 
Her  cheeks  were  ashes,  but  her  eye  was  8re, 
—  Fire  fix'd,  as  through  the  horror  of  the  mine, 
Sparks  from  the  diamond's  still  water  shine ; 
So  where  the  cloud  of  death  o'ershadowing  hung, 
Light  in  her  eye  from  depth  of  darkness  sprung, 
Dazzling  his  sight,  and  kindling  such  a  flame 
Within  his  breast  as  nature  could  not  name  ; 
He  knew  her  not ;  —  that  face  he  never  saw ; 
He  loved  her  not  ;  —  yet  love  chastised  b3'  awe 
And  reverence,  with  mysterious  terror  mix'd, 
His  looks  on  hers  in  fascination  fix'd. 

'•  Who  ? — whence  ?  — what  wouldst  thou  ?"  Falk- 
land cried  at  length  : 
His  voice  inspired  her ;  up  she  rose  in  strength, 
Gather'd  her  robe  and  spread  her  locks,  to  hide 
The  unsightly  wounds  ;  then  fervently  replied  :  — 
"  Behold  a  matron,  widow'd  and  forlorn, 
Yet  many  a  noble  son  to  me  was  born, 
Flowers  of  my  youth,  and  morning-stars  of  joy  ! 
They  quarrell'd,  fought,  and  slew  my  youngest  boy; 
Youngest  and  best  beloved  !  —  I  rush'd  between, 
My  darling  from  the  fratricides  to  screen : 
He  perish'd  :  from  my  arms  he  dropp'd  in  death  ; 
I  felt  him  kiss  my  feet  with  his  last  breath  ; 
The  swords  that  smote  bim,  flashing  round  my  head, 
Pierced  me;  —  the  murderers    saw  my  blood,  and 

fled,— 
Their  parent's  blood;  and  she,  unconscious  why 
She  sought  thee  out,  came  here  —  came  here  to  die. 


'Tis  a  strange  tale  :  —  'tis  true,  —  and  yet  'tis  not ; 
Follow  me,  Falkland,  thou  shalt  see  the  spot, — 
See  my  slain  boy,  —  my  life's  own  life,  the  pride 
And  hope  of  his  poor  mother, —  but  he  died; 
He  died,  —  and  she  did  not ;  —how  can  it  be  ? 
But  I'm  immortal !  — Falkland,  come  and  see.'' 

She    spake :    while   Falkland,    more   and    more 
amazed, 
On  her  ineffable  demeanour  gazed; 
So  vitally  her  form  and  features  changed, 
He  thought  his  own  clear  senses  were  deranged; 
Outraged  and  desolate  she  seem'd  no  more ; 
He  follow'd ;  stately,  she  advanced  before  : 
The  thickets,  at  her  touch,  gave  way,  and  made 
A  wake  of  moonlight  through  their  deepest  shade. 
Anon  he  found  himself  on  Newbury's  plain, 
Walking  among  the  dying  and  the  slain ; 
At  every  step  in  blood  his  foot  was  dyed, 
He  heard  expiring  groans  on  every  side. 
The  battle-thunder  had  roll'd  by ;  the  smoke 
Was  vanish'd ;  calm  and  bright  the  morning  broke, 
While  such  estrangement  o'er  his  mind  was  cast, 
As  though  another  day  and  night  had  past. 
There,  'midst  the  nameless  crowd,  oft  met  his  view 
An  eye,  a  countenance,  which  Falkland  knew, 
But  knew  not  him  :  —  that  eye  to  ice  congeal'd, 
That  countenance  by  death's  blank  signet  seal'd: 
Rebel  and  royalist  alike  laid  low, 
Where  friend  embraced  not  friend,  but  foe  grasp'd 

foe; 
Falkland  had  tears  for  each,  and  patriot-sighs, 
For  both  were  Briton's  in  that  Briton's  eyes. 

Silent  before  him  trod  the  lofty  dame, 
Breathlessly  looking  round  her,  till  they  came 
Where  shatter'd  fences  mark'd  a  narrow  road: 
Tracing  that  line,  with  prostrate  corpses  strow'd, 
She  turn'd  their  faces  upward,  one  by  one, 
Till,  suddenly,  the  newly -risen  sun 
Shot  through  the  level  air  a  ruddy  glow, 
That  fell  upon  a  visage  white  as  snow; 
Then  with  a  groan  of  agony  so  wild, 
As  if  the  soul  within  her  spake,  —  "  My  child  ! 
My  child  ! "  she  said,  and  pointing,  shrinking  back, 
Made  way  for  Falkland.  —  Prone  along  the  track 
(A  sight  at  once  that  warm'd  and  thrill'd  with  awe) 
The  perfect  image  of  himself  he  saw, 
Shape,  feature,  limb,  the  arms,  the  dress  he  wore, 
And  one  wide  honourable  wound  before. 


NARRATIVES. 


237 


Then  flash'd  the  fire  of  pride  from  Falkland's  eye, 

'"Tis  glorious  for  our  country  thus  to  die; 

'Tis  sweet  to  leave  an  everlasting  name, 

A  heritage  of  clear  and  virtuous  fame." 

While  thoughts  like  these  his  maddening  brain  pos- 

sess'd, 
And  lightning  pulses  thunder'd  through  his  breast ; 
While  Falkland  living  stood  o'er  Falkland  dead. 
fresh  at  his  feet  the  corse's  death-wound  bled, 
The  eye  met  his  with  inexpressive  glance, 
Like  the  sleep-walker's  in  benumbing  trance, 
And  o'er  the  countenance  of  rigid  clay 
The  flush  of  life  came  quick,  then  pass'd  away : 
A  momentary  pang  convulsed  the  chest, 
As  though  the  heart,  awaking  from  unrest, 
Broke  with  the  effort; —  all  again  was  still  ; 
Chill  through  his  tingling  veins  the  blood  ran,  chill. 
"  Can    this,"   ho   sigh'd,   "  be   virtuous   fame    and 

clear? 
Ah  !  what  a  field  of  fratricide  is  here ! 
Perish  who  may, — 'tis  England,  England  falls; 
Triumph  who  will, — his  vanquish'd  country  calls, 
As  I  have  done, —  as  I  will  never  cease, 
While  I  have  breath   and   being, —  Peace!   peace! 

peace  ! " 

Here  stoop'd  the  matron  o'er  the  dead  man's  face, 
Kiss'd  the  cold  lips,  then  caught  in  her  embrace 
The  living  Falkland  ;  —  as  he  turn'd  to  speak, 
He  felt  his  mother's  tears  upon  his  cheek  : 
He  knew  her,  own'd  her,  and  at  once  forgot 
All  but  her  earliest  love,  and  his  first  lot. 
Her  looks,  her  tones,  her  sweet  caresses,  then 
Brought  infancy  and  fairy-land  again, 
—  Youth  in  the  morn  and  maidenhood  of  life, 
Ere  fortune  curst  his  father's  house  with  strife, 
And  in  an  age  when  nature's  laws  were  changed, 
Mother  and  son,  as  heaven  from  earth,  estranged.1 

"0  Falkland!  Falkland!"  when  her  voice  found 

speech, 
The  lady  cried ;  then  took  a  hand  of  each, 
And  joining  clasp'd  them  in  her  own, — "  My  son  ! 
Behold  thyself,  for  thou  and  he  are  one." 
The  dead  man's  hand  grasp'd  Falkland's  with  such 

force, 
ne  fell  transform'd  into  that  very  corse, 


1  There  had  been  unhappy  divisions  in  the  family,  both 
with  respect  to  an  inheritance  which  Falkland  held  from 


As  though  the  wound  which  slow  his  counterpart 
That  moment  sent  the  death-shot  through  his  heart. 

When  from  that  ecstasy  he  oped  his  eyes, 
He  thought  his  soul  translated  to  the  skies ; 
The  battle-field  had  disappeared;  the  scene 
Had  changed  to  beauty,  silent  and  serene  ; 
City  nor  country  look'd  as  heretofore; 
A  hundred  years  and  half  a  hundred  more 
Had  travell'd  o'er  him  while  entranced  he  lay; 
England  appear'd  as  England  at  thin  day, 
In  arts,  arms,  commerce,  enterprise,  and  power, 
Beyond  the  dreams  of  his  dovoutest  hour, 
When,  with  prophetic  call,  the  patriot  brought 
Ages  to  come  before  creative  thought. 

With  doubt,  fear,  joy,  he  look'd  above,  beneath, 
Felt  his  own  pulse,  inhaled,  and  tried  to  breathe: 
Next  raised  an  arm,  advanced  a  foot,  then  broke 
Silence,  yet  only  in  a  whisper  spoke  :  — 
"My  mother!  are  we  risen  from  the  tomb? 
Is  this  the  morning  of  the  day  of  doom  ?" 
No  answer  came;  his  mother  was  not  there, 
But,  tall  and  beautiful  beyond  compare, 
One,  who  might  well  have  been  an  angel's  bride, 
Were  angels  mortal,  glitter'd  at  his  side. 
It  seem'd  some  mighty  wizard  had  unseal'd 
The  book  of  fate,  and  in  that  hour  reveal'd 
The  object  of  a  passion  all  his  own, 
— -A  lady  unexistent,  or  unknown, 
Whose  saintly  image,  in  his  heart  enshrined, 
Was  but  an  emanation  of  his  mind, 
The  ideal  form  of  glory,  gooduess,  truth, 
Embodied  now  in  all  the  flush  of  youth, 
Yet  not  too  exquisite  to  look  upon  : 
He  kueel'd  to  kiss  her  hand, —  the  spell  was  gone. 
Even  while  his  brain  the  dear  delusion  cross' d, 
Her  form  of  soft  humanity  was  lost. 
—  Then,  nymph  nor  goddess,  of  poetic  birth, 
E'er  graced   Jove's   heaven,    or   stept   on    classic 

earth, 
Like  her  in  majesty  ;  —  the  stars  came  down 
To  wreathe  her  forehead  with  a  fadeless  crown; 
The  sky  enrobed  her  with  ethereal  blue, 
And  girt  with  orient  clouds  of  many  a  hue  ; 
The  sun,  enamour'd  of  that  loveliest  sight, 
So  veil'd  his  face  with  her  benigner  light, 


Ills  grandfather,  and  the  religion  of  his  mother,  who  was 
a  Roman  Catholic. 


233 


NARRATIVES. 


That   woods   and   mountains,   valleys,   rocks,   and 

streams, 
Were  only  visible  in  her  pure  beams. 

While  Falkland,  pale  and  trembling  with  surprise, 
Admired  the  change,  her  stature  secm'd  to  rise, 
Till  from  the  ground,  on  which  no  shadow  spread, 
To  the  arch'd  firmament  she  rear'd  her  head; 
And  in  the'  horizon's  infinite  expanse, 
He  saw  the  British  Islands  at  a  glance, 
With  intervening  and  encircling  seas, 
O'er  which,  from  every  port,  with  every  breeze, 
Exulting  ships  were  sailing  to  all  realms, 
Whence  vessels  came,  with  strangers  at  their  helms, 
On  Albion's  shores  all  climes  rejoiced  to  meet, 
And  pour  their  native  treasures  at  her  feet. 

Then  Falkland,  in  that  glorious  dame,  descried 
Not  a  dead  parent,  nor  a  phantom  bride, 
But  her  who  ruled  his  soul,  in  either  part, 
At  once  the  spouse  and  mother  of  his  heart, 
—  His  Country,  thus  personified,  in  grace 
And  grandeur  unponceived,  before  his  face. 
Then  spake  a  voice,  as  from  the  primal  sphere, 
Heard  by  his  spirit  rather  than  his  ear  :  — 

"Henceforth  let  civil  war  for  ever  cease; 
Henceforth,  my  sons  and  daughters  dwell  in  peace; 
Amidst  the  ocean-waves  that  never  rest, 
My  lovely  Isle,  be  thou  the  halcyon's  nest; 
Amidst  the  nations,  evermore  in  arms, 
Be  thou  a  haven,  safe  from  all  alarms  ; 
Alone  immovable  'midst  ruins  stand, 
The'  unfailing  hope  of  every  failing  land  : 
To  thee  for  refuge  kings  enthroned  repair; 
Slaves  flock  to  breathe  the  freedom  of  thine  air. 
Hither,  from  chains  and  yokes,  let  exiles  bend 
Their  footsteps;  here  the  friendless  find  a  friend; 
The  country  of  mankind  shall  Britain  be, 
The  home  of  peace,  the  whole  world's  sanctuary." 

The  pageant  fled;  'twas  but  a  dream  :  he  woke, 
And  found  himself  beneath  the  Druid-oak 
Where  first  the  phantom  on  his  vigil  broke. 

Around  him  gleam'd  the  morn's  reviving  light; 
But  distant  trumpets  summon'd  to  the  fight, 
And  Falkland  slept  among  the  slain  at  night. 
1831. 


THE  PATRIOT'S  PASS-WORD. 

On  the  achievement  of  Arnold  de  Winkelricd,  at  the  battle 
of  Sempach,  in  which  the  Swiss  insurgents  secured  the 
freedom  of  their  country,  against  the  power  of  Austria, 
in  the  fourteenth  century. 

"  Make  way  for  liberty  ! "  he  cried, — 
Made  way  for  liberty,  and  died. 

In  arms  the  Austrian  phalanx  stood, 
A  living  wall,  a  human  wood  ; 
A  wall,— where  every  conscious  stone 
Seem'd  to  its  kindred  thousands  grown, 
A  rampart  all  assaults  to  bear, 
Till  time  to  dust  their  frames  should  wear : 
A  wood, — like  that  enchanted  grove1 
In  which  with  fiends  Rinaldo  strove, 
Where  every  silent  tree  possess'd 
A  spirit  imprison'd  in  its  breast, 
Which  the  first  stroke  of  coming  strife 
Might  startle  into  hideous  life: 
So  still,  so  dense,  the  Austrians  stood, 
A  living  wall,  a  human  wood. 
Impregnable  their  front  appears, 
All-horrent  with  projected  spears, 
Whose  polished  points  before  them  shine, 
From  flank  to  flank,  one  brilliant  line, 
Bright  as  the  breakers'  splendours  run 
Along  the  billows  to  the  sun. 

Opposed  to  these,  a  hovering  band 
Contended  for  their  father-land ; 
Peasants,  whose  new-found  strength  had  broke 
From  manly  necks  the'  ignoble  yoke, 
And  beat  their  fetters  into  swords, 
On  equal  terms  to  fight  their  lords, 
And  what  insurgent  rage  had  gain'd, 
In  many  a  mortal  fray  maintain'd. 
Marshall'd  once  more,  at  freedom's  call 
They  came  to  conquer  or  to  fall, 
Where  he  who  conquer'd,  he  who  fell, 
Was  deem'd  a  dead  or  living  Tell ; 
Such  virtue  had  that  patriot  breathed, 
So  to  the  soil  his  soul  bequeathed, 
That  wheresoe'er  his  arrows  flew, 
Heroes  in  his  own  likeness  grew, 
And  warriors  sprang  from  every  sod 
Which  his  awakening  footstep  trod. 


NARRATIVES. 


239 


And  now  the  work  of  life  and  death 
Hung  on  tho  passing  of  a  breath  ; 
The  fire  of  conflict  burn'd  within, 
The  battle  trembled  to  begin  ; 
Yet  while  the  Austrians  held  their  ground, 
Point  for  assault  was  nowhere  found; 
Where'er  the'  impatient  Switzers  gazed, 
The'  unbroken  line  of  lances  blazed; 
That  line  'twere  suicide  to  meet, 
And  perish  at  their  tyrants'  feet: 
How  could  they  rest  within  their  graves, 
To  leave  their  homes  the  haunts  of  slaves  ? 
Would  they  not  feel  their  children  tread, 
With  clanking  chains,  above  their  head? 

It  must  not  be  !  —  this  day,  this  hour, 
Annihilates  the'  invader's  power; 
All  Switzerland  is  in  the  field, 
She  will  not  fly,  she  cannot  yield, 
She  must  not  fall ;  her  better  fate 
Here  gives  her  an  immortal  date. 
Few  were  the  numbers  she  could  boast, 
Yet  every  freeman  was  a  host, 
And  felt,  as  't  were  a  secret  known, 
That  one  should  turn  the  scale  alone, 
While  each  unto  himself  was  he, 
On  whose  sole  arm  hung  victory. 

It  did  depend  on  one  indeed; 
Behold  him, —  Arnold  Winkelried; 
There  sounds  not  to  the  trump  of  fame 
The  echo  of  a  nobler  name. 
Unmark'd  he  stood  amidst  the  throng, 
In  rumination  deep  and  long, 
Till  you  might  see,  with  sudden  grace, 
The  very  thought  come  o'er  his  face, 
And  by  the  motion  of  his  form 
Anticipate  the  bursting  storm, 
And  by  the  uplifting  of  his  brow 
Tell  where  the  bolt  would  strike,  and  how. 

But  'twas  no  sooner  thought  than  done, 
The  field  was  in  a  moment  won; 
"  Make  way  for  liberty ! "  he  cried, 
Then  ran  with  arms  extended  wide, 
As  if  his  dearest  friend  to  clasp ; 
Ten  spears  he  swept  within  his  grasp  ; 
"  Make  way  for  liberty  ! "  he  cried, 
Their  keen  points  cross'd  from  side  to  side; 


He  bow'd  amidst  them,  like  a  tree, 
And  thus  made  way  for  liberty. 

Swift  to  the  breach  his  comrades  fly, 
"Make  way  for  liberty  !"  they  cry, 
And  through  the  Austrian  phalanx  dart, 
As  rush'd  the  spears  through  Arnold's  heart, 
While,  instantaneous  as  his  fall, 
Rout,  ruin,  panic  seized  them  all ; 
An  earthquake  could  not  overthrow 
A  city  with  a  surer  blow. 

Thus  Switzerland  again  was  free ; 
Thus  death  made  way  for  liberty. 
Rcdcar,  1827. 


THE  VOYAGE  OF  THE  BLIND. 

"  It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 
Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark." 

Milton's  Lycidas. 

The  subject  of  the  following  poem  was  suggested  by  certain 
well-authenticated  facts,  published  at  Paris,  in  a  Medical 
Journal,  some  years  ago;  of  which  a  few  particulars 
may  be  given  here :  — 

The  ship  Le  Rodeur,  Captain  B.,  of  200  tons  burthen, 
left  Havre  on  the  2-lth  of  January,  1819,  for  the  coast  of 
Africa,  and  reached  her  destination  on  the  14th  of  March 
following,  anchoring  at  Bonny,  on  the  river  Calabar.  The 
crew,  consisting  of  twenty-two  men,  enjoyed  good  health 
during  the  outward  voyage,  and  during  their  stay  at 
Bonny,  where  they  continued  till  the  6th  of  April.  They 
had  observed  no  trace  of  ophthalmia  among  the  natives; 
and  it  was  not  until  fifteen  days  after  they  had  set  sail 
on  the  return  voyage,  and  the  vessel  was  near  the  equator, 
that  they  perceived  the  first  symptoms  of  this  frightful 
malady.  It  was  then  remarked,  that  the  negroes,  who, 
to  the  number  of  160,  were  crowded  together  in  the  hold, 
and  between  the  decks,  had  contracted  a  considerable  red- 
ness of  the  eyes,  which  spread  with  singular  rapidity.  No 
great  attention  was  at  first  paid  to  these  symptoms,  which 
were  thought  to  be  caused  only  by  the  want  of  air  in  the 
hold,  and  by  the  scarcity  of  water,  which  had  already 
begun  to  be  felt.  At  this  time  they  were  limited  to  eight 
ounces  of  water  a  day  for  each  person,  which  quantity 
was  afterwards  reduced  to  the  half  of  a  wine-glass.  Ily 
the  advice  of  M.  Maugnan,  the  surgeon  of  the  ship,  the 
negroes,  who  had  hitherto  remained  shut  up  in  the  hold, 
were  brought  upon  deck  in  succession,  in  order  that  they 
might  breathe  a  purer  air.  But  it  became  necessary  to 
abandon  this  expedient,  salutary  as  it  was,  because  many 
of  the  negroes,  affected  with  nostalgia  (a  passionate  long- 
ing to  return  to  their  native  land),  threw  themselves  into 
the  sea,  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  disease  which  had  spread  itself  so  rapidly  and 
frightfully  among  the  Africans,  soon  began  to  infect  all  on 
board.  The  danger  also  was  greatly  increased  by  a  malig- 
nant dysentery  which  prevailed  at  the  time.    The  first  of 


the  crew  who  caught  it  was  a  sailor  who  slept  under  the 
deck  near  the  grated  hatch  which  communicated  with  the 
hold.  The  next  day  a  landsman  was  BCized  with  ophthal- 
mia; and  in  three  days  more  the  captain  and  the  whole 
Bhip's  company,  except  one  sailor,  who  remained  at  the 
helm,  were  Minded  by  the  disorder. 

All  means  of  cure  which  the  surgeon  employed,  while 
he  was  able  to  act,  proved  ineffectual.  The  sufferings  of 
the  crew,  which  were  otherwise  intense,  were  aggravated 
by  apprehension  of  revolt  among  the  negroes,  and  the 
dread  of  not  being  able  to  reach  the  West  Indies,  if  tin- 
only  sailor  who  had  hitherto  escaped  the  contagion,  and 
on  whom  their  whole  hope  rested,  should  lose  his  sight 
like  the  rest.  This  calamity  had  actually  befallen  the 
Leon,  a  Spanish  vessel  which  the  Rodeur  met  on  her 
passage,  and  the  whole  of  whose  crew,  having  become 
blind,  were  under  the  necessity  of  altogether  abandoning 
the  direction  of  their  ship.  These  unhappy  creatures, 
as  they  passed,  earnestly  entreated  the  charitable  interfe- 
rence of  the  seamen  of  the  Rodeur ;  but  these,  under  their 
own  affliction,  could  neither  quit  their  vessel  to  go  on 
board  the  Leon,  nor  receive  the  crew  of  the  latter  into 
the  Rodeur,  where,  on  account  of  the  cargo  of  negroes, 
there  was  scarcely  room  for  themselves.  The  vessels, 
therefore,  soon  parted  company,  and  the  Leon  was  never 
seen  or  heard  of  again,  so  far  as  could  be  traced  at  the 
publication  of  this  narrative.  In  all  probability,  then, 
it  was  lost.     On  the  fate  of  this  vessel  the  poem  is  founded. 

The  Rodeur  reached  Guadaloupe  on  the  21st  of  June, 
1819 ;  her  crew  being  in  a  most  deplorable  condition.  Of 
the  negroes,  thirty-seven  had  become  perfectly  blind, 
twelve  had  lost  each  an  eye,  and  fourteen  remained  other- 
wise blemished  by  the  disease.  Of  the  crew,  twelve,  in- 
cluding the  surgeon,  had  entirely  lost  their  sight;  five 
escaped  with  an  eye  each,  and  four  were  partially  injured. 

Part  I. 

O'er  Africa  the  morning  broke, 

And  many  a  negro-land  reveal'd, 
From  Europe's  eye  and  Europe's  yoke, 

In  nature's  inmost  heart  coneeal'd  : 
Here  roll'd  the  Nile  his  glittering  train, 
From  Ethiopia  to  the  main  ; 
And  Niger  there  uncoil'd  his  length, 
That  hides  his  fountain  and  his  strength, 

Among  the  realms  of  noon; 
Casting  away  their  robes  of  night, 
Forth  stood  in  nakedness  of  light 

The  Mountains  of  the  Moon. 

Hush'd  were  the  howlings  of  the  wild, 
The  leopard  in  his  den  lay  prone  ; 

Man,  while  creation  round  him  smiled, 
Was  sad  or  savage,  man  alone ; 

—  Down  in  the  dungeons  of  Algiers, 
The  Christian  captive  woke  in  tears  ; 

—  Cafifraria's  lean  marauding  race 
Prowl'd  forth  on  pillage  or  the  chase  ; 


—  In  Libyan  solitude, 

The  Arabian  horseman  scour'd  along; 
—  The  Caravan's  obstreperous  throng, 
Their  dusty  march  pursued. 

But  woe  grew  frantic  in  the  west : 

A  wily  rover  of  the  tide 
Had  mark'd  the  hour  of  Afric's  rest, 

To  snatch  her  children  from  her  side : 
At  early  dawn,  to  prospering  gales, 
The  eager  seamen  stretch  their  sails  ; 
The  anchor  rises  from  its  sleep 
Beneath  the  rocking  of  the  deep; 

Impatient  from  the  shore, 
A  vessel  steals ;  —  she  steals  away, 
Mute  as  the  lion  with  his  prey, 

—  A  human  prey  she  bore. 

Curst  was  her  trade  and  contraband ; 

Therefore  that  keel,  by  guilty  stealth, 
Fled  with  the  darkness  from  the  strand, 

Laden  with  living  bales  of  wealth: 
Fair  to  the  eye  her  streamers  play'd 
With  undulating  light  and  shade; 
White  from  her  prow  the  gurgling  foam 
Flew  backward  tow'rds  the  negro's  home, 

Like  his  unheeded  sighs; 
Sooner  that  melting  foam  shall  reach 
His  inland  home,  than  yonder  beach 

Again  salute  his  eyes. 

Tongue  hath  not  language  to  unfold 

The  secrets  of  the  space  between 
That  vessel's  flanks,  —  whose  dungeon-hold 

Hides  what  the  sun  hath  never  seen; 
Three  hundred  writhing  prisoners  there 
Breathe  one  mephitic  blast  of  air 
From  lip  to  lip;  — like  flame  supprest, 
It  bursts  from  every  tortured  breast, 

With  dreary  groans  and  strong; 
Lock'd  side  to  side,  they  feel  by  starts 
The  beating  of  each  other's  hearts 

— Their  breaking  too,  ere  long. 

Light  o'er  the  blue  untroubled  sea, 
Fancy  might  deem  that  vessel  held 

Her  voyage  to  eternity, 
By  one  unchanging  breeze  impell'd; 

—  Eternity  is  in  the  sky, 

AVhose  span  of  distance  mocks  the  eye; 


NARRATIVES. 


2-11 


Eternity  upon  the  main, 

The  horizon  there  is  sought  in  vain; 

Eternity  below 
Appears  in  heaven's  inverted  face; 
Anil  on,  through  everlasting  space, 

The'  unbounded  billons  flow. 

Yet,  while  his  wandering  bark  career'd, 

The  master  knew,  with  stern  delight, 
That  full  for  port  her  helm  was  steer'd, 

With  aim  unerring,  day  and  night. 
—  Pirate  !  that  port  thou  ne'er  shalt  hail ; 
Thine  eye  in  search  of  it  shall  fail: 
But  !o  !  thy  slaves  expire  beneath; 
Haste,  bring  the  wretches  forth  to  breathe  : 

Brought  forth,  —  away  they  spring, 
And  headlong  in  the  whelming  title, 
Rescued  from  thee,  their  sorrows  hide 

Beneath  the  halcyon's  wing. 

Part  II. 

There  came  an  angel  of  eclipse, 

Who  haunts  at  times  the'  Atlantic  flood, 

And  smites  with  blindness,  on  their  ships, 
The  captives  and  the  men  of  blood. 

—  Here,  in  the  bold  the  blight  began, 
From  eye  to  eye  contagion  ran  ; 

Sight,  as  with  burning  brands,  was  quench'd ; 
None  from  the  fiery  trial  blench'd, 

But,  panting  for  release, 
They  eall'd  on  death,  who,  close  behind, 
Brought  pestilence  to  lead  the  blind 

From  agony  to  peace. 

The  twofold  plague  no  power  could  check  : 
Unseen  its  withering  arrows  flew  ; 

It  walk'd  in  silence  on  the  deck, 

And  smote  from  stem  to  stern  the  crew  : 

—  As  glow-worms  dwindle  in  the  shade, 
As  lamps  in  charnel-houses  fade, 
From  every  orb  with  vision  fired, 

In  flitting  sparks  the  light  retired  ; 

The  sufferers  saw  it  go, 
And  o'er  the  ship,  the  sea,  the  skies, 
Pursued  it  with  their  failing  eyes, 

Till  all  was  black  below. 

A  murmur  swell'd  along  the  gale  ;  — 
All  rose,  and  held  their  breath  to  hear; 
16 


All  look'd,  but  none  could  spy  a  sail, 
Although  a  sail  was  near! 

—  "  Help  !  help  ! "  our  beckoning  sailors  cried  ; 
"  Help  !  help  !  "  a  hundred  tongues  replied  : 
Then  hideous  clamour  rent  the  air, 
Questions  and  answers  of  despair: 

Few  words  the  mystery  clear'd; 
The  pest  had  found  that  second  bark, 
Where  every  eye  but  his  was  dark 

Whose  hand  the  vessel  steer'd. 

He,  wild  with  panic,  turn'd  away, 

And  thence  his  shrieking  comrades  bore; 
From  cither  ship  the  winds  convey 

Farewells,  that  soon  are  heard  no  more  : 
— A  calm  of  horror  hush'd  the  waves  ; 
Behold  them  !  —  merchant,  seamen,  slaves, 
The  blind,  the  dying,  and  the  dead ; 
All  help,  all  hope,  for  ever  fled ; 

Unseen,  yet  face  to  face  ! 
Woe  past,  woe  present,  woe  to  come, 
Held  for  a  while  each  victim  dumb, — 

Impaled  upon  bis  place. 

It  is  not  in  the  blood  of  man. 

To  crouch  ingloriously  to  fate  : 
Nature  will  struggle  while  she  can  : 

Misfortune  makes  her  children  great : 
The  head  which  lightning  hath  laid  low. 
Is  ballow'd  by  the  noble  blow: 
The  wretch  who  yields  a  felon's  breath, 
Emerges  from  the  cloud  of  death, 

A  spirit  on  the  storm; 
But  virtue  perishing  unknown, 
Watch'd  by  the  eye  of  heaven  alone, 

Is  earth's  least  earthly  form. 

What  were  the  scenes  on  board  that  bark  ? 

The  tragedy  which  none  beheld, 
When  (as  the  deluge  bore  the  ark), 

By  power  invisible  impell'd, 
The  keel  went  blindfold  through  the  surge, 
Where  stream  might  drift,  or  tempest  urge: 

—  Plague,  famine,  thirst,  their  numbers  slew. 
And  frenzy  seized  the  hardier  few 

Who  yet  were  spared  to  try 
How  everlasting  are  the  pangs, 
When  life  upon  a  moment  hangs. 

And  death  stands  mocking  by. 


242 


N  A  R  R  A  T  I  V  E  S . 


Imagination's  daring  glance 

May  pierce  that  vale  of  mystery, 
As  in  the  rapture  of  a  trance, 

Things  which  no  eye  hath  seen  to  see ; 
And  hear  by  fits  along  the  gales, 
Screams,  maniac-laughter,  hollow  wails  : 

—  They  stand,  they  lie,  above,  beneath, 
Groans  of  unpitied  anguish  breathe, 

Tears  unavailing  shed  ; 
Each,  in  abstraction  of  despair, 
Seems  to  himself  a  hermit  there, 

Alive  among  the  dead. 

Yet  respite,  —  respite  from  his  woes, 
Even  here,  the  conscious  sufferer  feels; 

Worn  down  by  torture  to  repose, 
Slumber  the  vanish'd  world  reveals  : 

—  Ah!  then  the  eyes,  extinct  in  night, 
Again  behold  the  blessed  light  : 

Ah  !  then  the  frame  of  rack'd  disease 
Lays  its  delighted  limbs  at  ease  ; 

Swift  to  his  own  dear  land 
The  unfetter'd  slave  with  shouts  returns, 
Hard  by  his  dreaming  tyrant  burns 

At  sight  of  Cuba's  strand. 

To  blank  reality  they  wake, 

In  darkness  opens  every  eye  : 
Peace  comes; — the  negro's  heart-strings  break, 

To  him  'tis  more  than  life  to  die : 

—  How  feels,  how  fares,  the  man  of  blood? 
In  endless  exile  on  the  flood, 

Rapt,  as  though  fiends  his  vessel  steer'd, 
Things  which  he  once  believed  and  fear'd, 

—  Then  scorn'd  as  idle  names, — 
Death,  judgment,  conscience,  hell,  conspire 
With  thronging  images  of  fire 

To  light  up  guilt  in  flames. 

Who  cried  for  mercy  in  that  hour, 

And  found  it  on  the  desert  sea  ? 
Who  to  the  utmost  grasp  of  power 

Wrestled  with  life's  last  enemy  1 
Who,  Marius-like,  defying  (ate, 
(Marius  on  fallen  Carthage)  sate? 
Who,  through  a  hurricane  of  fears, 
Clung  to  the  hopes  of  future  years? 

And  who,  with  heart  nnqnail'd, 
Look'd  from  time's  trembling  precipice 


Down  on  eternity's  abyss, 

Till  breath  and  footing  fail'd  ? 

Is  there  among  this  crew  not  one 

—  One  whom  a  widow'd  mother  bare, 
Who  mourns  far  off  her  only  son, 

And  pours  for  him  her  soul  in  prayer? 
Even  note,  when  o'er  his  soften'd  thought, 
Remembrance  of  her  love  is  brought, 
To  soothe  death's  agony,  and  dart 
A  throb  of  comfort  through  his  heart, — 

Even  note  a  mystic  knell 
Sounds  through  her  pnlse;  — she  lifts  her  eye, 
Sees  a  pale  spirit  passing  by, 

And  hears  his  voice,  "farewell  !" 

Mother  and  son  shall  meet  no  more : 

—  The  floating  tomb  of  its  own  dead, 
That  ship  shall  never  reach  a  shore; 

But,  far  from  track  of  seamen  led, 
The  sun  shall  watch  it,  day  by  day, 
Careering  on  its  lonely  way  ; 
Month  after  month,  the  moon  shine  pale 
On  falling  mast  and  riven  sail; 

The  stars,  from  year  to  year, 
Mark  the  bulged  flanks,  and  sunken  deck, 
Till  not  a  ruin  of  the  wreck 

On  ocean's  face  appear. 
1820. 


AN  EVERY-PAY  TALE. 

Written  for  a  benevolent  society  in  the  metropolis,  the 
object  of  whirh  is  to  relieve  poor  women  daring  ' 
month  of  their  widowhood,  t<>  preserve  what  little  property 
tlicv  may  have  from  wreck  and  ruin,  in  a  season  of  em- 
barrassment, when  kindness  and  good  counsel  are  especi- 
ally needed;  ami.  so  far  as  may  tie  practicable,  to  assM 
the  destitute  with  future  means  of  maintaining  them- 
selves and  their  fatherless  children. 

"The  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." — Gray. 

Mine  is  a  tale  of  every  day, 

Y'et  turn  not  thou  thine  ear  away  ; 

For  'tis  the  bitterest  thought  of  all, 

The  wormwood  added  to  the  gall, 

That  such  a  wreck  of  mortal  bliss, 

That  such  a  weight  of  woe  as  this, 

Is  no  strange  tiling,  —  but,  strange  to  say  ! 

The  talc,  the  truth,  of  every  day. 


_J 


NARRATIVES. 


243 


At  Mary's  birth,  the  mother  smiled 
Upon  her  first,  last,  only  child. 
And  at  the  sight  of  that  young  flower, 
Forgot  the  anguish  of  her  hour : 
Her  pains  return'd;  —  she  soon  forgot 
Love,  joy,  hope,  sorrow,— she  was  not. 

Her  partner  stood,  like  one  bereft 
Of  all;  —  not  all,  their  babe  was  left: 
By  the  dead  mother's  side  it  slept, 
Slept  sweetly;  —  when  it  woke,  it  wept. 
"Live,  -Mary,  live,  and  I  will  be 
Father  and  mother  both  to  thee  !" 
The  mourner  cried,  and  while  he  spake, 
His  breaking  heart  forbore  to  break; 
Faith,  courage,  patience,  from  above, 
Flew  to  the  help  of  fainting  love. 
While  o'er  his  charge  that  parent  yearn'd, 
All  woman's  tenderness  he  learn'd, 
All  woman's  waking,  sleeping  care, 
—  That  sleeps  not  to  her  babe, —  her  prayer, 
Of  power  to  bring  upon  its  bead, 
The  richest  blessings  heaven  can  shed; 
All  these  he  learn'd,  and  lived  to  say, 
"My  strength  was  given  me  as  my  day." 

So  the  Red  Indians  of  those  woods 
That  echo  to  Lake  Erie's  floods, 
Reft  of  his  consort  in  the  wild, 
Became  the  mother  of  his  child ! 
Nature  (herself  a  mother)  saw 
His  grief,  and  loosed  her  kindliest  law: 
Warm  from  its  fount  life's  stream,  propell'd, 
His  breasts  with  sweet  nutrition  swell'd, 
At  whose  strange  springs,  his  infant  drew 
Milk,  as  the  rose-bud  drinks  the  dew. 

.Alary  from  childhood  rose  to  youth, 
In  patiis  of  innocence  and  truth; 
—  Train'd  by  her  parent,  from  her  birth, 
To  go  to  heaven  by  way  of  earth, 
She  was  to  him,  in  after-life, 
Both  as  a  daughter  and  a  wife. 

Meekness,  simplicity,  and  grace, 
Adorn'd  her  speech,  her  air,  her  face; 
The  spirit,  through  its  earthly  mould, 
Broke,  as  the  lily's  leaves  unfold; 
Her  beauty  open'd  on  the  sight, 
As  a  star  trembles  into  light. 


Love  found  that  maiden  ;  love  will  find 
Way  to  the  coyest  maiden's  mind; 
Love  found  and  tried  her  many  a  year, 
With  hope  deferr'd,  and  boding  fear : 
To  the  world's  end  her  hero  stray 'd ; 
Tempests  ami  calms  his  bark  delay 'd; 
What  then  could  her  heart-sickness  soothe?' 
"The  course  of  true  love  ne'er  ran  smooth!" 
Her  bosom  ached  with  drear  suspense, 
Till  sharper  trouble  drove  it  thence: 
Affliction  smote  her  father's  brain, 
And  he  became  a  child  again. 
Ah!  then,  the  prayers,  the  pangs,  the  tears, 
He  breathed,  felt,  shed  on  her  young  years, 
That  duteous  daughter  well  repaid, 
Till  in  the  grave  she  saw  him  laid, 
Beneath  her  mother's  church  yard  stone: 

—  There  first  she  felt  herself  alone  | 
But  while  she  gazed  on  that  cold  heap, 
Her  parents'  bed,  and  could  not  weep, 
A  still  small  whisper  seem'd  to  say, 
"Strength  shall  be  given  thee  as  thy  day:" 
Then  rush'd  the  tears  to  her  relief; 

A  bow  was  in  the  cloud  of  grief. 

Her  wanderer  now  from  clime  to  clime, 
Return'd,  unchanged  by  tide  or  time, 
True  as  the  morning  to  the  sun  ; 

—  Mary  and  William  soon  were  one; 
And  never  rang  the  village  bells 
With  sweeter  falls  or  merrier  swells, 
Than  while  the  neighbours,  young  and  old, 
Stood  at  their  thresholds,  to  behold 

And  bless  them,  till  they  reaeh'd  the  spot 
Where  woodbines  girdled  Mary's  cot, 
Where  throstles,  pereh'd  on  orchard  trees, 
Sang  to  the  hum  of  garden  bees: 

And  there  —  no  longer  forced  to  roam 

William  found  all  the  world  at  home ! 
Yea,  more  than  all  the  world  beside,— 
A  warm,  kind  heart  to  his  allied. 

Twelve  years  of  humble  life  they  spent, 
With  food  and  raiment  well  content; 
In  flower  of  youth  and  flush  of  health, 
They  envied  not  voluptuous  wealth  : 
The  wealth  of  poverty  was  theirs, 
—  Those  riches  without  wings  or  snares, 
Which  honest  hands,  by  daily  toil. 
May  dig  from  every  generous  soil. 


244 


NARK  AT  IVES. 


A  little  farm  while  William  till'd, 

Mary  her  household  cares  fulfill'd  : 

And  love,  joy,  peace,  with  guileless  mirth, 

Sate  round  their  table,  warni'd  their  hearth  ; 

Whence  rose,  like  incense,  to  the  skies, 

Morning  and  evening  sacrifice, 

And  contrite  spirits  found,  in  prayer, 

That  home  was  heaven,  for  God  was  there. 

Meanwhile  the  May-flowers  on  their  lands 
Were  yearly  pluck'd  by  younger  hands ; 
New-comers  watch'd  the  swallows  float, 
And  mock'dthe  cuckoo's  double  note; 
Till,  head  o'er  head,  in  slanting  line, 
They  stood, —  a  progeny  of  nine, 
That  might  be  ten  ;  —  but  ere  that  day, 
The  father's  life  was  snateh'd  away  : 
Faint  from  the  field  one  night  he  came; 
Fever  had  seized  his  sinewy  frame, 
And  left  the  strong  man,  when  it  pass'd, 
Frail  as  the  sere  leaf  in  the  blast; 
A  long,  long  winter's  illness,  bow'd 
His  head  ;  —  spring-daisies  deck'd  bis  shroud. 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bitter  day  for  all, 
The  husband's,  father's  funeral ; 
The  dead,  the  living,  and  the  unborn 
Met  there, —  were  there  asunder  torn. 

Scarce  was  he  buried  out  of  sight, 
Ere  his  tenth  infant  sprang  to  light, 
And  Mary,  from  her  child-bed  throes, 
To  instant  utter  ruin  rose, 
Harvests  had  fail'd,  and  sickness  drain'd 
Her  frugal  stock-purse,  long  rctain'd; 
Rents,  debts,  and  taxes  all  fell  due, 
Claimants  were  loud,  resources  few, 
Small,  and  remote  ;  — yet  time  and  care 
Her  shatter'd  fortunes  might  repair, 
If  but  a  friend, —  a  friend  in  need, — 
Such  friend  would  be  a  friend  indeed, — 
Would,  by  a  mite  of  succour  lent, 
Wrongs  irretrievable  prevent! 
She  look'd  around  for  such  an  one, 
And  sigh'd  but  spake  not, — "Is  there  none  '.'" 
—  Oh  !  if  he  come  not  ere  an  hour, 
All  will  elapse  beyond  her  power, 
And  homeless,  helpless,  hopeless,  lost, 
Mary  on  this  cold  world  be  tost 
With  all  her  babes!  *  *  *  *  * 


Came  such  a  friend  ? —  I  must  not  say  ; 
Mine  is  a  tale  of  every  day  : 
But  wouldst  thou  know  the  worst  of  all, 
The  wormwood  mingled  with  the  gall, 
Go  visit  thou  in  their  distress, 
The  widow  and  the  fatherless, 
And  thou  shalt  find  such  woe  as  this, 
Such  breaking  up  of  earthly  bliss, 
Is  no  strauge  thing, —  but,  strange  to  say  ! 
The  tale  —  the  truth  —  of  every  day. 

Go,  visit  thou,  in  their  distress, 
The  Widow  and  the  FATHERLESS. 

1S30. 


A  TALE  WITHOUT  A  NAME. 

<:  0,  woman!  in  our  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please; 
When  pain  and  anguish  wring  the  brow, 
A  ministering  anpel  thou!" 

Scon's  Maiinion,  canto  vi. 

Part  I. 

He  had  no  friend  on  earth  but  thee; 

No  hope  in  heaven  above; 
By  day  and  night,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

No  solace  but  thy  love : 
He  wander'd  here,  he  wander'd  there, 

A  fugitive  like  Cain  ; 
And  mourn'd  like  him,  in  dark  despair, 

A  brother  rashly  slain. 

Rashly,  yet  not  in  sudden  wrath, 

They  quarrell'd  in  their  pride, 
He  sprang  upon  his  brother's  path, 

And  smote  him  that  he  died. 
A  nightmare  sat  upon  his  brain, 

All  stone  within  he  felt; 
A  death-watch  tick'd  through  every  vein, 

Till  the  dire  blow  was  dealt. 

As  from  a  dream,  in  pale  surprise, 
Waking,  the  murderer  stood  ; 

lie  met  the  victim's  closing  eyes, 
He  saw  his  brother's  blood  : 

That  blood  pursued  him  on  his  way, 
A  living,  murmuring  stream  ; 


X  A  11  R  A  T I V  E  S . 


245 


Those  eyes  before  him  flash'd  dismay, 
With  ever-dying  gleam. 

In  vain  he  strove  to  fly  the  scene, 

And  breathe  beyond  that  time; 
Tormented  memory  glared  between  ; 

Immortal  seem'd  his  crime: 
His  thoughts,  his  words,  his  actions  all 

Tuni'd  on  li is  fallen  brother; 
That  hour  he  never  could  recall, 

Nor  ever  live  another. 

To  him  the  very  clouds  stood  still, 

The  ground  appear'd  unchanged; 
One  light  was  ever  on  the  hill, 

—  That  hill  where'er  he  ranged  : 
He  heard  the  brook,  the  birds,  the  wind, 

Sound  in  the  glen  below  ; 
That  self-same  tree  he  eower'd  behind, 

He  struck  the  self-same  blow. 

Yet  was  not  reason  quite  o'erthrown, 

Nor  so  benign  his  lot, 
To  dwell  in  frenzied  grief  alone, 

All  other  woe  forgot : 
The  world  within  and  world  around, 

Clash'd  in  perpetual  strife; 
Present  and  past  close  intcrwouud 

Through  his  whole  thread  of  life. 

That  thread,  inextricably  spun, 

Might  reach  eternity  ; 
For  ever  doing,  never  done, 

That  moment's  deed  might  be  ; 
This  was  a  worm  that  would  not  die, 

A  fire  unquenchable : 
Ah  !  whither  shall  the  sufferer  fly  ? 

Fly  from  a  bosom-hell  ? 

He  had  no  friend  on  earth  but  thee, 

No  hope  in  heaven  above; 
By  day  and  night,  o'er  land  and  sea, 

No  refuge  but  thy  love  ; 
Not  time  nor  place,  nor  crime  nor  shame, 

Could  change  thy  spousal  truth  ; 
In  desolate  old  age  the  same 

As  in  the  joy  of  youth. 

Not  death,  but  infamy,  to  'scape, 
He  left  his  native  coast; 


To  death  in  any  other  shape, 
He  long'd  to  yield  the  ghost: 

But  infamy  his  steps  pursued, 
And  haunted  every  place, 

While  death,  though  like  a  lover  woo'd, 
Fled  from  his  loathed  embrace. 

He  wander'd  here,  he  wander'd  there, 

And  she  his  angel-guide, — 
The  silent  spectre  of  despair, 

With  mercy  at  his  side; 
Whose  love  and  loveliness  alone 

Shed  comfort  round  his  gloom, — 
Pale  as  the  monumental  stone 

That  watches  o'er  a  tomb. 


Part  II. 

They  cross'd  the  blue  Atlantic  flood; 

A  storm  their  bark  assail'd ; 
Stern  through  the  hurricane  he  stood; 

All  hearts,  all  efforts,  fail'd: 
With  horrid  hope  he  eyed  the  waves 

That  flash'd  like  wild-fires  dim; 
But  ocean,  midst  a  thousand  graves, 

Denied  a  grave  to  him. 

On  shore  he  sought  delirious  rest, 

In  crowds  of  busy  men, 
When  suddenly  the  yellow  pest 

Came  reeking  from  its  den  : 
The  city  vanish'd  at  its  breath ; 

He  caught  the  taint,  and  lay 
A  suppliant  at  the  gate  of  death, 

—  Death  spurn'd  the  wretch  away. 

In  solitude  of  streams  and  rocks, 

Mountains  and  forests  dread, 
Where  nature's  free  and  fearless  flocks 

At  her  own  hand  are  fed, 
They  hid  their  pangs:  —  but  oh  !  to  live 

In  peace, —  in  peace  to  die, — ■ 
Was  more  than  solitude  could  give, 

Or  earth's  whole  round  supply. 

The  swampy  wilderness  their  haunt, 

Where  fiery  panthers  prowl, 
Serpents  their  fatal  splendours  flaunt, 

And  wolves  and  lynxes  howl; 


240 


N  A  R  R  A  T  IVES. 


Where  alligators  throng  the  floods, 

And  reptiles,  venom-arm'd, 
Infest  the  air,  the  fields,  the  woods, 

They  slept,  they  wak'd,  unbarm'd. 

Where  the  Red  Indians,  in  their  ire, 

With  havoc  mark  the  way, 
Skulk  in  dark  ambush,  waste  with  fire, 

Or  gorge  inhuman  prey  : 
Their  blood  no  wild  marauder  shed; 

Secure  without  defence, 
Alike,  were  his  devoted  head, 

And  her  meek  innocence. 

Weary  of  loneliness,  they  turn'd 

To  Europe's  carnage-field; 
At  glory's  Moloch-shrine,  he  burn'd 

His  hated  breath  to  yield : 
He  plunged  into  the  hottest  strife  ; 

He  dealt  the  deadliest  blows; 
To  every  foe  exposed  bis  life  ; 

Powerless  were  all  his  foes. 

The  iron  thunder-bolts,  with  wings 

Of  lightning,  shunn'd  his  course; 
Harmless  the  hail  of  battle  rings, 

The  bayonet  spends  its  force; 
The  sword  to  smite  him  flames  aloof, 

Descends, —  but  strikes  in  vain  : 
His  branded  front  was  weapon-proof, 

He  wore  the  mark  of  Cain. 

"I  cannot  live, — -I  cannot  die  !" 

He  mutter'd  in  despair; 
"  This  curse  of  immortality, 

0,  could  I  quit, —  or  bear  '." 
—  Of  every  frantic  hope  bereft, 

To  meet  a  nobler  doom, 
One  refuge,  only  one,  was  left, — 

To  storm  the'  unyielding  tomb. 

Through  his  own  breast  the  passage  lay, 

The  steel  was  in  bis  hand; 
But  fiends  upstarting  fenced  the  way, 

And  every  nerve  unmann'd  : 
The  heart  that  ached  its  blood  to  spill, 

With  palsying  horror  died; 
The  arm,  rebellious  to  his  will, 

Hung  withering  at  his  side. 


0,  woman !.  wonderful  in  love, 

Whose  weakness  is  thy  power, 
How  did  thy  spirit  rise  above 

The  conflict  of  that  hour ! 
—  She  found  him  prostrate ;  —  not  a  sigh 

Escaped  her  tortured  breast, 
Nor  fell  one  tear-drop  from  her  eye, 

Where  torrents  were  supprest. 

Her  faithful  bosom  stay'd  his  head, 

That  throbb'd  with  fever  heat; 
Her  eye  serene  compassion  shed, 

Which  his  could  never  meet: 
Her  arms  enclasp'd  his  shuddering  frame, 

While  at  his  side  she  kneel'd, 
And  utter'd  nothing  but  his  name, 

Yet  all  her  soul  revcal'd. 

Touch'd  to  the  quick,  he  gave  no  sign 

By  gentle  word  or  tone; 
In  him  affection  could  not  shine, 

'Twas  fire  within  a  stone  ; 
Which  no  collision  by  the  way 

Could  startle  into  light, 
Though  the  poor  heart  that  held  it  lay 

Wrapt  in  Cimmerian  night. 

It  was  not  always  thus  ;  —  crcwhile 

The  kindness  of  his  youth, 
His  brow  of  innocence,  and  smile 

Of  unpretending  truth, 
Had  left  such  strong  delight,  that  she 

Would  oft  recall  the  time, 
And  live  in  golden  memory, 

Unconscious  of  his  crime. 

Though  self-abandon'd  now  to  fate, 

The  passive  prey  of  grief, 
Sullen,  and  cold,  and  desolate, 

He  shunn'd,  he  spurn'd,  relief: 
Still  onward  in  its  even  course 

Her  pure  affection  press'd, 
And  pour'd  with  soft  and  silent  force 

Its  sweetness  through  his  breast. 

Thus  Sodom's  melancholy  lake 

No  turn  or  current  knows  ; 
Nor  breeze,  nor  billow  sounding,  break 

The  horror  of  repose ; 


NARRATIVES. 


247 


While  Jordan,  through  the  sulphurous  brine, 

Rolls  a  translucent  stream, 
Whose  waves  with  answering  beauty  shine 

To  every  changing  beam. 


Part  III. 

At  length  the  hardest  trial  came, 

Again  they  cross  the  seas  ; 
The  waves  their  wilder  fury  tame, 

The  storm  becomes  a  breeze  : 
Homeward  their  easy  course  they  hold, 

And  now  in  radiant  view, 
The  purple  forelands,  tinged  with  gold, 

Larger  and  lovelier  grew. 

The  vessel  on  the  tranquil  tide 

Then  seem'd  to  lie  at  rest, 
While  Albion,  in  maternal  pride, 

Advanced  with  open  breast 
To  bid  them  welcome  on  the  main  : 

—  Both  shrunk  from  her  embrace; 
Cold  grew  the  pulse  through  every  vein ; 

He  turn'd  away  his  face. 

Silent,  apart,  on  deck  he  stands 

In  ecstasy  of  woe; 
A  brother's  blood  is  on  his  hands, 

He  sees,  he  hears  it  flow  : 
AVilder  than  ocean  tempest-wrought, 

Though  deadly  calm  his  look; 
—  nis  partner  read  his  inmost  thought, 

And  strength  her  limbs  forsook. 

Then  first,  then  last,  a  pang  she  proved 

Too  exquisite  to  bear : 
She  fell;  —  he  caught  her, —  strangely  moved, 

Roused  from  intense  despair; 
Alive  to  feelings  long  unknown, 

He  wept  upon  her  cheek, 
And  call'd  her  in  as  kind  a  tone 

As  love's  own  lips  could  speak. 

Her  spirit  heard  that  voice,  and  felt 

Arrested  on  its  flight; 
Back  to  the  mansion  where  it  dwelt, 

Back  from  the  gates  of  light, 
That  open'd  Paradise  in  trance, 

It  hasten'd  from  afar, 


Quick  as  the  startled  seaman's  glance 
Turns  from  the  polar  star. 

She  breathed  again,  look'd  up,  and  lo  ! 

Those  eyes  that  knew  not  tears, 
With  streams  of  tenderness  o'erflow; 

That  heart,  through  hopeless  years 
The  den  of  fiends  in  darkness  chain'd, 

That  would  not,  dared  not  rest, 
Affection  fervent,  pure,  unfeign'd, 

In  speechless  sighs  express'd. 

Content  to  live,  since  now  she  knew 

What  love  believed  before ; 
Content  to  live,  since  he  was  true, 

And  love  could  ask  no  more, — 
This  vow  to  righteous  heaven  she  made, 

— "  Whatever  ills  befall, 
Patient,  unshrinking,  undismay'd, 

I'll  freely  suffer  all." 

They  land,— they  take  the  wonted  road, 

By  twice  ten  years  estranged ; 
The  trees,  the  fields,  their  old  abode, 

Objects  and  men,  had  changed : 
Familiar  faces,  forms  endear'd, 

Each  well-remember'd  name, 
From  earth  itself  had  disappear'd, 

Or  seem'd  no  more  the  same. 

The  old  were  dead,  the  young  were  old: 

Children  to  men  had  sprung; 
And  every  eye  to  them  was  cold, 

And  silent  every  tongue; 
Friendless,  companionless,  they  roam 

Amidst  their  native  scene; 
In  drearier  banishment  at  home, 

Than  savage  climes  had  been. 


Part  IV. 

Yet  worse  she  fear'd ;  — nor  long  they  lay 

In  safety  or  suspense; 
Unslumbering  justice  seized  her  prey, 

And  dragg'd  the  culprit  thence  ; 
Amid  the  dungeon's  darken'd  walls, 

Down  on  the  cold  damp  floor, 
A  wreck  of  misery  he  falls, 

Close  to  the  bolted  door. 


248 


NARRATIVES. 


And  she  is  gone, —  while  he  remains, 

Bewilder'd  in  the  gloom, 
To  brood  in  solitude  and  chains 

Upon  a  felon's  doom  : 
Yes,  she  is  gone, —  and  he  forlorn 

Must  groan  the  night  away, 
And  long  to  see  her  face  at  morn, 

More  welcome  than  the  day. 

The  morning  comes, —  she  re-appears 

With  grief-dissembling  wiles; 
A  sad  serenity  of  tears, 

An  agony  of  smiles, 
Her  looks  assume;  his  spectral  woes 

Are  vanish'd  at  the  sight; 
And  all  within  him  seem'd  repose, 

And  all  around  him  light. 

Never  since  that  mysterious  hour, 

When  kindred  blood  was  spilt, — 
Never  had  aught  in  nature  power 

To  soothe  corroding  guilt, 
Till  the  glad  moment  when  she  cross'd 

The  threshold  of  that  place, 
And  the  wild  rapture  when  he  lost 

Himself  in  her  embrace. 

Even  then,  while  on  her  neck  he  hung, 

Ere  yet  a  word  they  spoke, 
As  by  a  fiery  serpent  stung, 

Away  at  once  he  broke : 
Frenzy,  remorse,  confusion  burst 

In  tempest  o*er  his  brain  ; 
He  felt  accused,  condemn'd,  accurst, 

He  was  himself  again. 

Days,  weeks,  and  months,  had  mark'd  the  flight 

Of  time's  unwearied  wing, 
Ere  winter's  long,  lugubrious  night 

Relented  into  spring : 
To  him  who  pined  for  death's  release, 

An  age  the  space  between ! 
To  her  who  could  not  hope  for  peace, 

How  fugitive  the  scene  ! 

In  vain  she  chid  forewarning  fears, 

In  vain  repress'd  her  woe, 
Alone,  unseen,  her  sighs  and  tears 

"Would  freely  heave  and  flow : 


Yet  ever  in  his  sight,  by  day, 

Her  looks  were  calm  and  kind, 
And  when  at  evening  torn  away, 

She  left  her  soul  behind. 

Hark  !  —  hark  !  —  the  Judge  is  at  the  gate, 

The  trumpets'  thrilling  tones 
Ring  through  the  cells,  the  voice  of  fate ! 

Re-echoed  thence  in  groans  : 
The  sound  hath  reaeh'd  her  ear,— she  stands 

In  marble-chilness  dumb; 
He  too  hath  heard,  and  smites  his  hands : 

"I  come,"  he  cried,  "I  come." 

Before  the  dread  tribunal  now, 

Firm  in  collected  pride, 
Without  a  scowl  upon  his  brow, 

Without  a  pang  to  hide, 
He  stood;  —  superior  in  that  hour 

To  recreant  fear  and  shame; 
Peril  itself  inspired  the  power 

To  meet  the  worst  that  came. 

'Twas  like  the  tempest,  when  he  sought 

Fate  in  the  swallowing  flood  ; 
'Twas  like  the  battle,  when  he  fought 

For  death  through  seas  of  blood  : 
A  violence  which  soon  must  break 

The  heart  that  would  not  bend, — 
A  heart  that  almost  ceased  to  ache 

In  hope  of  such  an  end. 

On  him  while  every  eye  was  fis'd, 

And  every  lip  cxpress'd, 
Without  a  voice,  the  rage  unmix'd, 

That  boil'd  in  every  breast ; 
It  seem'd  as  though  that  deed  abhorr'd, 

In  years  far  distant  done, 
Had  cut  asunder  every  cord 

Of  fellowship  but  one,— 

That  one  indissolubly  bound 

A  feeble  woman's  heart: 
—  Faithful  in  every  trial  found, 

Long  had  she  borne  her  part; 
Now  at  his  helpless  side  alone, 

Girt  with  infuriate  crowds, 
Like  the  new  moon  her  meekness  shone, 

Pale  through  a  gulf  of  clouds. 


NARRATIVES. 

249 

Ah  !  well  might  every  bosom  yearn 

The  cool  fresh  breeze  from  heaven  that  bli 

w, 

Responsive  to  her  sigh, 

The  free  lark's  mounting  strains, 

And  every  visage,  dark  and  stern, 

She  felt  in  drops  of  icy  dew, 

Soften  beneath  that  eye ; 

She  heard  like  groans  and  chains. 

Ah  !  well  might  every  lip  of  gall 

The  unutter'd  curse  suspend  ; 

"  Farewell !" — 'twas  but  a  word,  yet  more 

Its  tones  for  her  in  blessings  fall, 

Was  utter'd  in  that  sound 

Its  breath  in  prayer  ascend. 

Than  love  had  ever  told  before, 
Oi> sorrow  yet  had  found: 

"  Guilty  ! " —  that  thunder-striking  sound, 

They  kiss  like  meeting  flames, —  they  part 

All  shudder'd  when  they  heard; 

Like  flames  asunder  driven; 

A  burst  of  horrid  joy  around 

Lip  cleaves  to  lip,  heart  beats  on  heart, 

Hail'd  the  tremendous  word  ; 

Till  soul  to  soul  is  riven. 

Check'd  in  a  moment, — she  was  there  ! 

The  instinctive  groan  was  hush'd  : 

Quick  hurried  thence, —  the  sullen  bell 

Nature,  that  forced  it,  cried,  "Forbear;" 

Its  pausing  peal  began; 

Indignant  Justice  blush'd. 

She  hearkens, — 'tis  the  dying  knell 
Rung  for  the  living  man  : 

Part  V. 

The  mourner  reaeh'd  her  lonely  bower, 
Fell  on  her  widow'd  bed, 

One  woe  is  past,  another  speeds 

And  found,  through  one  enchanting  hour, 

To  brand  and  seal  his  doom ; 

The  quiet  of  the  dead. 

The  third  day's  failing  beam  recedes; 

She  wateh'd  it  into  gloom: 
That  night,  how  swift  in  its  career 

It  flew  from  sun  to  sun  ! 
That  night,  the  last  of  many  a  dear 

And  many  a  dolorous  one  !  — ■ 

She  woke, —  and  knew  he  was  no  more  : 

"  Th}'  dream  of  life  is  past  ; 
That  pang  with  thee,  that  pang  is  o'er, 

The  bitterest  and  the  last  !  " 
She  cried  :  —  then  scenes  of  sad  amaze 

Flash'd  on  her  inward  eye: 

That  night,  by  special  grace,  she  wakes 

A  field,  a  troop,  a  crowd  to  gaze, 

In  the  lone  convict's  cell, 

A  murderer  led  to  die  1 

With  him  to  whom  the  morrow  breaks 

To  light  to  heaven  or  hell : 

He  eyed  the  ignominious  tree, 

Dread  sounds  of  preparation  rend 

Look'd  round,  but  saw  no  friend; 

The  dungeon's  ponderous  roof; 

Was  plunged  into  eternity; 

The  hammer's  doubling  strokes  descend, 

—  Is  this  —  is  this  the  end? 

The  scaffold  creaks  aloof. 

Her  spirit  follow'd  him  afar 

She  wateh'd  his  features  through  the  shade 

Which  glimmering  embers  broke ; 
Both  from  their  inmost  spirit  pray'd; 

Into  the  world  unknown, 
And  saw  him  standing  at  that  bar 
Where  each  must  stand  alone. 

They  pray'd,  but  seldom  spoke  : 
Moments  meanwhile  were  years  to  him ; 

Her  grief  forgot  their  flight, 
Till  on  the  hearth  the  fire  grew  dim ; 

She  turn'd,  and  lo  !  the  light;  — 

Silence  and  darkness  hide  the  rest : 
—  Long  she  survived  to  mourn  ; 

But  peace  sprang  up  within  her  breast, 
From  trouble  meekly  borne  : 

And  higher,  holier  joys  had  she, 

The  light  less  welcome  to  her  eyes, 

A  Christian's  hopes  above, 

The  loveliest  light  of  morn, 

The  prize  of  suffering  constancy, 

Than  the  dark  glare  of  felons'  eyes 

The  crown  of  faithful  love. 

Through  grated  cells  forlorn  : 

1821. 

250 


NARRATIVES. 


A  SNAKE  IN  THE  GRASS. 

A   TALE    FOR   CHILDREN:     FOUNDED    O.N   FACTS. 

She  had  a  secret  of  her  own, 

That  little  girl  of  whom  we  speak, 

O'er  which  she  oft  would  muse  alone, 
Till  the  blush  came  across  her  cheek, 

A  rosy  cloud  that  glow'd  awhile, 

Then  melted  in  a  sunny  smile. 

There  was  so  much  to  charm  the  eye, 
So  much  to  move  delightful  thought, 

Awake  at  night  she  loved  to  lie, 

Darkness  to  her  that  image  brought; 

She  murmur'd  of  it  in  her  dreams, 

Like  the  low  sounds  of  gurgling  streams. 

What  secret  thus  the  soul  possess'd 
Of  one  so  young  and  innocent? 

Oh  !  nothing  but  a  robin's  nest, 
O'er  which  in  ecstasy  she  bent; 

That  treasure  she  herself  had  found, 

With  five  brown  eggs,  upon  the  ground. 

When  first  it  flash'd  upon  her  sight, 
Bolt  flew  the  dam  above  her  head  ; 

She  stoop'd  and  almost  shriek'd  with  fright; 
But  spying  soon  that  little  bed 

With  feathers,  moss,  and  horse-hairs  twined, 

Rapture  and  wonder  fill'd  her  mind. 

Breathless  and  beautiful  she  stood, 
Her  ringlets  o'er  her  bosom  fell ; 

With  hands  uplift,  in  attitude 

As  though  a  pulse  might  break  the  spell, 

While  through  the  shade  her  pale  fine  face 

Shone  like  a  star  amidst  the  place. 

She  stood  so  silent,  stay'd  so  long, 
The  parent-birds  forgot  their  fear; 

Cock-robin  trill'd  his  small  sweet  song, 
In  notes  like  dew-drops  trembling  clear; 

From  spray  to  spray  the  shyer  hen 

Dropp'd  softly  on  her  nest  again. 

There  Lucy  mark'd  her  slender  bill 
On  this  side,  and  on  that  the  tail 

Peer'd  o'er  the  edge, —  while,  lix'd  and  still, 
Two  bright  black  eyes  her  own  assail, 


Which,  in  eye-language,  seem'd  to  say, 
"  Peep,  pretty  maiden  !  then  away  !" 

Away,  away  at  length  she  crept, 

So  pleased,  she  knew  not  how  she  trode, 

Yet  light  on  tottering  tiptoe  stept, 
As  if  birds'  eggs  strew'd  all  the  road; 

With  folded  arms,  and  lips  conipress'd, 

To  keep  her  joy  within  her  breast. 

Morn,  noon,  and  eve,  from  day  to  day, 

By  stealth  she  visited  that  spot; 
Alike  her  lessons  and  her  play 

Were  slightly  conn'd,  or  half  forgot; 
And  when  the  callow  young  were  hatch'd, 
With  infant  loudness  Lucy  wateh'd  :  — 

Watch'd  the  kind  parents  dealing  food 
To  clamorous  suppliants  all  agape  ; 

Watch'd  the  small,  naked,  uuform'd  brood 
Improve  in  size,  and  plume,  and  shape, 

Till  feathers  clad  the  fluttering  things, 

And  the  whole  group  seem'd  bills  and  wings. 

Unconsciously  within  her  breast, 
Where  many  a  brooding  fancy  lay, 

She  plann'd  to  bear  the  tiny  nest 
And  chirping  choristers  away, 

In  stately  cage  to  tune  their  throats, 

And  learn  untaught  their  mother-notes. 

One  morn,  when  fairly  fledged  for  flight, 

Blithe  Lucy,  on  her  visit,  found 
What  seem'd  a  necklace,  glittering  bright, 

Twin'd  round  the  nest,  twin'd  round  and  round. 
With  emeralds,  pearls,  and  sapphires  set, 
Rich  as  my  lady's  coronet. 

She  stretch'd  her  hand  to  seize  the  prize, 
When  up  a  serpent  popp'd  its  head, 

But  glid  like  wild-fire  from  her  eyes, 
Hissing  and  rustling  as  it  fled; 

She  utter'd  one  short  shrilling  scream, 

Then  stood,  as  startled  from  a  dream. 

Her  brother  Tom,  who  long  had  known 
That  something  drew  her  feet  that  way, 

Curious  to  catch  her  there  alone, 

Had  follow'd  her  that  fine  May-day; 


NARRATIVES. 


251 


—  Lucy,  bewildcr'd  by  her  trance, 
Came  to  herself  at  his  first  glance. 

Then  in  her  eyes  sprang  welcome  tears; 

They  fell  like  showers  in  April  fall ; 
He  kiss'd  her,  coax'd  her,  soothed  her  fears 

Till  she  in  frankness  told  him  all : 

—  Tom  was  a  bold,  adventurous  boy, 
And  heard  the  dreadful  tale  with  joy. 

For  he  had  learnt, —  in  some  far  land, — 
How  children  catch  the  sleeping  snake; 

Eager  himself  to  try  his  hand, 
He  cut  a  hazel  from  the  brake, 

And  like  a  hero  set  to  work, 

To  make  a  lithe  long-handled  fork. 

Brother  and  sister  then  withdrew, 
Leaving  the  nestlings  safely  there; 

Between  their  heads  the  mother  flew, 
Prompt  to  resume  her  nursery  care  : 

But  Tom,  whose  breast  for  glory  burn'd, 

In  less  than  half  an  hour  return'd. 

With  him  came  Ned,  as  cool  and  sly 

As  Tom  was  resolute  and  stout; 
So,  fair  and  softly,  they  drew  nigh, 

Cowering  and  keeping  sharp  look-out, 
Till  they  had  reach'd  the  copse, —  to  see, 
But  not  alarm,  the  enemy. 

Guess  with  what  transport  they  descried, 

How,  as  before,  the  serpent  lay 
Coil'd  round  the  nest,  in  slumbering  pride; 

The  urchins  chuckled  o'er  their  prey, 
And  Tom's  right  hand  was  lifted  soon, 
Like  Greenland  whaler's  with  harpoon. 

Across  its  neck  the  fork  he  brought, 
And  pinn'd  it  fast  upon  the  ground  ; 

The  reptile  woke,  and  quick  as  thought 

Curl'd   round   the   stick,    curl'd   round   and 
round ; 

While  head  and  tail  Ned's  nimble  hands 

Tied  at  each  end  with  pack-thread  bands, 

Scarce  was  the  enemy  secured, 

When  Lucy  timidly  drew  near, 
But,  by  their  shouting  well  assured, 

Eyed  the  green  monster  void  of  fear; 


The  lads,  stark  mad  with  victory,  flung 
Their  caps  aloft, —  they  danced,  they  sung 

But  Lucy,  with  an  anxious  look, 

Turn'd  to  her  own  dear  nest,  when  lo  ! 

To  legs  and  wings  the  young  ones  took, 
Hopping  and  tumbling  to  and  fro; 

The  parents  chattering  from  above 

With  all  the  earnestness  of  love. 

Alighting  now  among  their  train, 

They  peck'd  them  on  new  feats  to  try; 

But  niauy  a  lesson  seem'd  in  vain, 
Before  the  giddy  things  would  fly ; 

Lucy  both  laugh'd  and  cried,  to  see 

How  ill  they  play'd  at  liberty. 

I  need  not  tell  the  snake's  sad  doom, 
You  may  be  sure  he  lived  not  long ; 

Cork'd  in  a  bottle  for  a  tomb, 
Preserv'd  in  spirits  and  in  song, 

His  skin  in  Tom's  museum  shines, 

You  read  his  story  in  these  lines. 
1831. 


THE  VIGIL  OF  ST.  MARK. 

Returning  from  their  evening  walk, 

On  yonder  ancient  stile, 
In  sweet,  romantic,  tender  talk, 

Two  lovers  paused  awhile  : 

Edmund  the  monarch  of  the  dale, 
All  conscious  of  his  powers  ; 

Ella,  the  lily  of  the  vale, 

The  rose  of  Auburn's  bowers; 

In  airy  Love's  delightful  bands 

He  held  her  heart  in  vain  ; 
The  Nymph  denied  her  willing  hands 

To  Hymen's  awful  chain. 

"  Ah  !  why,"  said  he,  "  our  bliss  delay  ? 

Mine  Ella,  why  so  cold  ? 
Those  who  but  love  from  day  to  day, 

From  day  to  day  grow  old. 


252 


X  A  R  II  ATI  VES. 


"  The  bounding  arrow  cleaves  the  sky, 

Nor  leaves  a  trace  behind; 
And  single  lives  like  arrows  fly, — 

They  vanish  through  the  wind. 

"  In  Wedlock's  sweet  endearing  lot 

Let  us  improve  the  scene, 
That  some  may  be  when  we  are  not, 

To  tell  —  that  we  have  been." 

"  "Tis  now,"  replied  the  village  Belle, 

"St.  Mark's  mysterious  Eve; 
And  all  that  old  traditions  tell 

I  tremblingly  believe  :  — 

"How,  when  the  midnight  signal  tolls, 

Along  the  churchyard-green 
A  mournful  train  of  sentenced  souls 

In  winding-sheets  are  seen  : 

"  The  ghosts  of  all  whom  death  shall  doom 

Within  the  coming  year, 
In  pale  procession  walk  the  gloom 

Amid  the  silence  drear. 

"  If  Edmund,  bold  in  conscious  might, 

By  love  severely  tried, 
Can  brave  the  terrors  of  to-night, 

Ella  will  be  his  bride." 

She  spake. —  and  like  the  nimble  fawn, 
From  Edmund's  presence  fled  : 

He  sought,  across  the  rural  lawn, 
The  dwelling  of  the  dead;  — 

That  silent,  solemn,  simple  spot, 
The  mouldering  realm  of  peace, 

Where  human  passions  are  forgot, 
Where  human  follies  cease. 

The  gliding  moon  through  heaven  serene 

Pursued  her  tranquil  way, 
And  shed  o'er  all  the  sleeping  scene 

A  soft  nocturnal  day. 

With  swelling  heart  and  eager  feet 
Young  Edmund  gain'd  the  church, 

And  chose  hi-  solitary  seat 
Within  the  dreadful  porch. 


Thick,  threatening  clouds  assembled  soon, 
Their  dragon-vings  display 'd; 

Eclipsed  the  ."low  retiring  moon, 
And  quench'd  the  stars  in  shade. 

Amid  the  deep  abyss  of  gloom 

Xo  ray  of  beauty  smiled, 
Save,  glistening  o'er  some  haunted  tomb, 

The  glow-worm's  lustre  wild. 

The  village  watch-dogs  bay'd  around, 
The  long  grass  whistled  drear, 

The  steeple  trembled  to  the  ground, 
Ev'n  Edmund  quaked  with  fear. 

All  on  a  sudden  died  the  blast, 

Dumb  horror  chill'd  the  air; 
While  Xature  seem'd  to  pause  aghast, 

In  uttermost  despair. 

Twelve  times  the  midnight  herald  toll'd, 

As  oft  did  Edmund  start ; 
For  every  stroke  fell  dead  and  cold 

Upon  his  fainting  heart. 

Then,  glaring  through  the  ghastly  gloom, 

Along  the  churchyard  green, 
The  destined  victims  of  the  tomb 

In  winding-sheets  were  seen. 

In  that  strange  moment  Edmund  stood, 

Sick  with  severe  surprise  ! 
While  creeping  horror  drank  his  blood, 

And  fix'd  his  flinty  eyes. 

lie  saw  the  secrets  of  the  grave  ; 

He  saw  the  face  of  DEATH  : 
No  pitying  power  appcar'd  to  save  — 

lie  gasp'd  away  his  breath. 

Yet  still  the  scene  his  soul  beguiled, 

And  every  spectre  cast 
A  look  unutterably  wild 

On  Edmund  as  they  pass'd. 

All  on  the  ground  entranced  he  lay  ; 

At  length  the  vision  broke; 
—  When,  lo  !  —  a  kiss,  as  cold  as  clay, 

The  slumbering  vouth  awoke. 


N  A  R  It  A  T I V  E  S . 


25S 


That  moment  through  a  rifted  cloud 

The  darting  moou  display 'd, 
Robed  in  a  melancholy  shroud, 

The  image  of  a  maid. 

Her  dusky  veil  aside  she  threw, 

And  show'd  a  face  most  fair: 
"My  Love!  my  Ella!" — Edmund  flew, 

And  clasp'd  the  yielding  air. 

"Ha  !  who  art  thou?"  His  cheek  grew  pale  : 

A  well-known  voice  replied, 
"Ella,  the  lily  of  the  vale; 

Ella  —  thy  destined  bride." 

To  win  his  neck  her  airy  arms 

The  pallid  phantom  spread  ; 
Recoiling  from  her  blasted  charms, 

The  affrighted  lover  fled. 

To  shun  the  visionary  maid, 

His  speed  outstript  the  wind; 
But, —  though  unseen  to  move, —  the  shade 

Was  evermore  behind. 

So  Death's  unerring  arrows  glide, 

Yet  seem  suspended  still : 
Nor  pause,  nor  shrink,  nor  turn  aside, 

But  smite,  subdue,  and  kill. 

O'er  many  a  mountain,  moor,  and  vale, 

On  that  tremendous  night, 
The  ghost  of  Ella,  wild  and  pale, 

Pursued  her  lover's  flight. 

But  when  the  dawn  began  to  gleam, 

Ere  yet  the  morning  shone, 
She  vanish'd  like  a  night-mare  dream, 

And  Edmund  stood  alone. 

Three  days,  bewilder'd  and  forlorn, 

He  sought  his  home  in  vain  ; 
At  length  he  hail'd  the  hoary  thorn 

That  crowu'd  his  native  plain. 

'Twas  evening;  —  all  the  air  was  balm, 

The  heavens  serenely  clear; 
When  the  soft  music  of  a  psalm 

Came  pensive  o'er  his  ear. 


Then  sunk  his  heart;  —  a  strange  surmise 

Made  all  his  blood  run  cold  : 
He  flew, — a  funeral  met  his  eyes: 

He  paused, —  a  death-bell  toll'd. 

"'Tis  she  !  'tis  she  !" — He  burst  away; 

And  bending  o'er  the  spot 
Where  all  that  once  was  Ella  lay, 

He  all  beside  forgot. 

A  maniac  now,  in  dumb  despair, 

With  love-bewilder'd  mien, 
He  wanders,  weeps,  and  watches  there, 

Among  the  hillocks  green. 

And  every  Eve  of  pale  St.  Mark, 

As  village  hinds  relate, 
He  walks  with  Ella  in  the  dark, 

And  reads  the  rolls  of  Eate. 


A  DEED  OF  DARKNESS. 

The  body  of  the  Missionary,  John  Smith,  (who  died  Febru- 
ary 6. 182-1,  in  prison,  under  sentence  of  death  by  a  court- 
martial,  in  Demerara.)  was  ordered  to  be  buried  secretly 
at  night;  and  no  person,  not  even  his  widow,  was  allow- 
ed to  follow  the  corpse.  Mrs.  Smith,  however,  and  her 
friend  Mrs.  Elliott,  accompanied  by  a  free  Negro,  carry- 
ing a  lantern,  repaired  beforehand  to  the  spot  where  a 
grave  had  been  dug,  and  there  they  awaited  the  inter- 
ment, which  took  place  accordingly.  His  Majesty's  par- 
don, annulliug  the  condemnation,  is  said  to  have  arrived 
on  the  day  of  the  unfortunate  Missionary's  death,  from 
the  rigours  of  confinement,  in  a  tropical  climate,  and 
under  the  slow  pains  of  an  inveterate  malady,  previous- 
ly afflicting  him. 

Come  down  in  thy  profoundest  gloom, 
Without  one  vagrant  fire-fly's  light, 

Beneath  thine  ebon  arch  entomb 

Earth  from  the  gaze  of  heaven,  0  Night ! 

A  deed  of  darkness  must  be  done  ; 

Put  out  the  moon,  hold  back  the  sun. 

Are  these  the  criminals  that  flee 

Like  deeper  shadows  through  the  shade  ? 

A  flickering  lamp,  from  tree  to  tree, 
Betrays  their  path  along  the  glade, 

Led  by  a  Negro;  —  now  they  stand, 

Two  trembling  women,  hand  in  hand. 


25 1 


NARRATIVES. 


A  grave,  an  open  grave,  appears ; 

O'er  this  in  agony  they  bend, 
Wet  the  fresh  turf  with  bitter  tears; 

Sighs  following  sighs  their  bosoms  rend : 
These  are  not  murderers  !  —  these  have  known 
Grief  more  bereaving  than  their  own. 

Oft  through  the  gloom  their  straining  eyes 
Look  forth  for  what  they  fear  to  meet: 

It  comes  ;  they  catch  a  glimpse ;  it  flies  : 
Quick-glancing  lights,  slow-trampling  feet, 

Amidst  the  cane-crops,  —  seen,  heard,  gone, — 

Return,  —  and  in  dead-march  move  on. 

A  stern  procession  !  —  gleaming  arms 

And  spectral  countenances  dart, 
By  the  red  torch-flame,  wild  alarms 

And  withering  pangs  through  cither  heart: 
A  corpse  amidst  the  group  is  borne, 
A  prisoner's  corpse  who  died  last  morn. 

Not  by  the  slave-lord's  justice  slain, 
Who  doom'd  him  to  a  traitor's  death; 

While  royal  mercy  sped  in  vain 

O'er  land  and  sea  to  save  his  breath;  — 

No  ;  the  frail  life  that  warm'd  this  clay 

Man  could  not  give  nor  take  away. 

His  vengeance  and  his  grace  alike 
Were  impotent  to  spare  or  kill;  — 

He  may  not  lift  the  sword  to  strike, 
Nor  turn  its  edge  aside,  at  will ; 

Here,  by  one  sovereign  act  and  deed, 

God  cancell'd  all  that  man  decreed. 

Ashes   to  ashes,  dust  to  dust, 

That  corpse  is  to  the  grave  consign'd ; 

The  scene  departs:  —  this  buried  trust 
The  Judge  of  quick  and  dead  shall  find, 

When  things  which  Time  and  Death  have  seal'd 

Shall  be  in  flaming  fire  reveal'd. 

The  fire  shall  try  Thee,  then,  like  gold, 
Prisoner  of  hope!  —  await  the  test; 

And  0  !  when  truth  alone  is  told, 
Be  thy  clear  innocence  confess'd! 

The  fire  shall  try  thy  foes;  —  may  they 

Find  mercy  in  that  dreadful  day  ! 


THE  CAST-AWAY  SHIP. 

The  subjects  of  the  two  following  poems  were  suggested  by 

the  loss  of  the  Blenheim,  commanded  by  Sir  Thomas 
Trowbridge,  which  was  separated  from  the  vessels  under 
its  convoy  during  a  storm  in  the  Indian  Ocean.  —  The 
Admiral's  son  afterwards  made  a  voyage,  without  sui 
in  search  of  his  father.  —  Trowbridge  was  one  of  Nelson's 
captains  at  the  Battle  of  the  Nile,  but  his  ship  unfortu- 
nately ran  aground  as  he  was  bearing  down  on  the  enemy. 

A  vessel  sail'd  from  Albion's  shore, 

To  utmost  Iudia  bound, 
Its  crest  a  hero's  pennant  bore, 

With  broad  sea-laurels  crown'd 
In  many  a  fierce  and  noble  fight, 
Though  foil'd  on  that  Egyptian  night 

When  Gallia's  host  was  drown'd, 
And  Nelson  o'er  his  country's  foes 
Like  the  destroying  angel  rose. 

A  gay  and  gallant  company, 

With  shouts  that  rend  the  air, 
For  warrior-wreaths  upon  the  sea, 

Their  joyful  brows  prepare; 
But  many  a  maiden's  sigh  was  sent, 
And  many  a  mother's  blessing  went, 

And  many  a  father's  prayer, 
With  that  exulting  ship  to  sea, 
With  that  undaunted  company. 

The  deep,  that  like  a  cradled  child 

In  breathing  slumber  lay, 
More  warmly  blush'd,  more  sweetly  smiled, 

As  rose  the  kindling  day  : 
Through  ocean's  mirror  dark  and  clear, 
Reflected  clouds  and  skies  appear 

In  morning's  rich  array; 
The  land  is  lost,  the  waters  glow, 
'Tis  heaven  above,  around,  below. 

Majestic  o'er  the  sparkling  tide, 

See  the  tall  vessel  sail, 
With  swelling  winds  in  shadowy  pride, 

A  swan  before  the  gale  : 
Deep-laden  merchants  rode  behind; 
—  But,  fearful  of  the  fickle  wind, 

Britannia's  check  grew  pale, 
When,  lessening  through  the  flood  of  light, 
Their  leader  vanish'd  from  her  sight. 


NARRATIVES. 


255 


Oft  had  she  hail'd  its  trophicd  prow, 

Victorious  from  the  war, 
And  banner'd  masts  that  would  not  bow, 

Though  riven  with  many  a  sear; 
Oft  had  her  oaks  their  tribute  brought, 
To  rib  its  flanks,  with  thunder  fraught; 

But  late  her  evil  star 
Had  curst  it  on  its  homeward  way, 
—  "The  spoiler  shall  become  the  prey." 

Thus  warn'd,  Britannia's  anxious  heart 
Throbb'd  with  prophetic  woe 

When  she  beheld  that  ship  depart, 
A  fair  ill-omen'd  show  ! 

So  views  the  mother,  through  her  tears, 

The  daughter  of  her  hopes  and  fears, 
When  hectic  beauties  glow 

On  the  frail  cheek,  where  sweetly  bloom 

The  roses  of  an  early  tomb. 

No  fears  the  brave  adventurers  knew, 
Peril  and  death  they  spurn'd; 

Like  full-fledg'd  eagles  forth  they  flew ! 
Jove's  birds,  that  proudly  burn'd 

In  battle-hurricanes  to  wield 

His  lightnings  on  the  billowy  field ; 
And  many  a  look  they  turn'd 

O'er  the  blue  waste  of  waves  to  spy 

A  Gallic  ensign  in  the  sky. 

But  not  to  crush  the  vaunting  foe, 

In  combat  on  the  main, 
Nor  perish  by  a  glorious  blow, 

In  mortal  triumph  slain, 
Was  their  unutterable  fate; 
—  That  story  would  the  Muse  relate, 

The  song  might  rise  in  vain  ; 
In  ocean's  deepest,  darkest  bed, 
The  secret  slumbers  with  the  dead. 

On  India's  long-expecting  strand 

Their  sails  were  never  furl'd; 
Never  on  known  or  friendly  land, 

By  storms  their  keel  was  hurl'd; 
Their  native  soil  no  more  they  trod, 
They  rest  beneath  no  hallow'd  sod : 

Throughout  the  living  world, 
This  sole  memorial  of  their  lot 
Remains,  —  they  were,  and  they  are  not. 


The  spirit  of  the  Cape1  pursued 

Their  long  and  toilsome  way; 
At  length,  in  ocean  solitude, 

He  sprang  upon  his  prey; 
"Havoc  !"  the  shipwreck-demon  cried, 
Loosed  all  his  tempests  on  the  tide, 

Gave  all  his  lightnings  play  ; 
The  abyss  recoil'd  before  the  blast, 
Firm  stood  the  seamen  till  the  last. 

Like  shooting-stars,  athwart  the  gloom 
The  merchant-sails  were  sped  ; 

Yet  oft,  before  its  midnight  doom, 
They  mark'd  the  high  mast-head 

Of  that  devoted  vessel,  tost 

By  winds  and  floods,  now  seen,  now  lost: 
While  every  gun-fire  spread 

A  dimmer  flash,  a  fainter  roar; 

—  At  length  they  saw,  they  heard,  no  more. 

There  are  to  whom  that  ship  was  dear, 

For  love  and  kindred's  sake; 
When  these  the  voice  of  Rumour  hear, 

Their  inmost  heart  shall  quake, 
Shall  doubt,  and  fear,  and  wish,  and  grieve, 
Believe,  and  long  to  unbelicve, 

But  never  cease  to  ache  ; 
Still  doom'd,  in  sad  suspense,  to  bear 
The  Hope  that  keeps  alive  Despair. 


THE    SEQUEL. 

He  sought  his  sire  from  shore  to  shore, 
He  sought  him  day  by  day  ; 

The  prow  he  track'd  was  seen  no  more 
Breasting  the  ocean-spray : 

Yet,  as  the  winds  his  voyage  sped, 

He  sail'd  above  his  father's  head, 
Unconscious  where  it  lay, 

Deep,  deep  beneath  the  rolling  main; 

He  sought  his  sire ;  he  sought  in  vain. 

Son  of  the  brave !  no  longer  weep; 

Still  with  affection  true, 
Along  the  wild  disastrous  deep, 

Thy  father's  course  pursue  ; 


'  The  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  formerly  called  the  Cape  of 
Storms.  —  See  Camoens'  Luciad,  book  v. 


256 


N  A  11  II  AT  IVES. 


Full  in  his  wake  of  glory  steer, 
His  si>irit  prompts  thy  bold  career, 

His  compass  guides  thee  through  ; 
So,  while  thy  thunders  awe  the  sea, 
Britain  shall  find  thy  sire  in  thee. 

1815. 


A  NIGHT   IN   A   STAGE-COACH; 

BEING   A   MEDITATION    ON   THE    "WAY   BETWEEN 
LONDON    AND    BRISTOL, 

Sept.  23,  1S15. 

I  travel  all  the  irksome  night, 

By  ways  to  me  unknown  ; 
I  travel,  like  a  bird  in  flight, 

Onward,  and  all  alone. 

In  vain  I  close  my  weary  eyes, 

They  will  not,  cannot  sleep, 
But,  like  the  watchers  of  the  skies, 

Their  twinkling  vigils  keep. 

My  thoughts  are  wandering  wild  and  far; 

From  earth  to  heaven  they  dart; 
Now  win*  their  flight  from  star  to  star, 

Now  dive  into  my  heart. 

Backward  they  roll  the  tide  of  time, 
And  live  through  vanish'd  years, 

Or  hold  their  "  colloquy  sublime  " 
With  future  hopes  and  fears ; 

Then  passing  joys  and  present  woes 
Chase  through  my  troubled  mind, 

Repose  still  seeking,  —  hut  repose 
Not  for  a  moment  find. 

So  yonder  lone  and  lovely  moon 
Gleams  on  the  clouds  gone  by, 

Illumines  those  around  her  noon, 
Yet  westward  points  her  eye. 

Nor  wind  nor  flood  her  course  delay, 
Through  heaven  I  see  her  glide  ; 

She  never  pauses  on  her  way, 
She  never  turns  aside. 


With  anxious  heart  and  throbbing  brain, 
Strength,  patience,  spirits  gone, 

Pulses  of  fire  in  every  vein, 
Thus,  thus  I  journey  on. 

But  soft !  —  in  Nature's  failing  hour, 

Up  springs  a  breeze,  —  I  feel 
Its  balmy  breath,  its  cordial  power  — 

A  power  to  soothe  and  heal. 

Lo  !  grey,  and  gold,  and  crimson  streaks 

The  gorgeous  east  adorn, 
While  o'er  the'  empurpled  mountain  breaks 

The  glory  of  the  morn. 

Insensibly  the  stars  retire, 

Exhaled  like  drops  of  dew; 
Now  through  an  arch  of  living  fire 

The  sun  comes  forth  to  view. 

The  hills,  the  vales,  the  waters,  hum 

With  his  enkindling  rays, 
No  sooner  touch'd  than  they  return 

A  tributary  blaze. 

His  quickening  light  on  me  descends, 

His  cheering  warmth  I  own  : 
Upward  to  him  my  spirit  tends, 

But  worships  God  alone. 

Oh  !  that  on  me,  with  beams  henign, 

His  countenance  would  turn  : 
I  too  should  then  arise  and  shine,  — 

Arise,  and  shine,  and   burn. 

Slowly  I  raise  my  languid  head, 

Pain  and  soul-sickness  cease; 
The  phantoms  of  dismay  are  fled, 

And  health  returns,  and  peace. 

Where  is  the  beauty  of  the  scene 
Which  silent  night  display'd? 

The  clouds,  the  stars,  the  blue  serene 
The  moving  light  and  shade? 

All  gone  !  —  the  moon,  erewhile  so  bright, 

Veil'd  with  a  dusky  shroud, 
Seems,  in  the  sun's  o'erpowering  light, 

The  fragment  of  a  cloud. 


NARRATIVES. 


257 


At  length  I  reach  my  journey's  end : 
— Welcome  that  well-known  face ! 

I  meet  a  brother  and  a  friend; 
I  find  a  resting-place. 

Just  such  a  pilgrimage  is  life  ; 

Hurried  from  stage  to  stage, 
Our  wishes  with  our  lot  at  strife, 

Through  childhood  to  old  age. 

The  world  is  seldom  what  it  seems:  — 

To  man,  who  dimly  sees, 
Realities  appear  as  dreams, 

And  dreams  realities. 

The  Christian's  years,  though  slow  their  flight, 

When  he  is  call'd  away, 
Are  but  the  watches  of  a  night, 

And  Death  the  dawn  of  day. 


THE  REIGN  OP  SPRING. 

Who  loves  not  Spring's  voluptuous  hours, 
The  carnival  of  birds  and  flowers? 
Yet  who  would  choose,  however  dear, 
That  Spring  should  revel  all  the  year? 

—  Who  loves  not  Summer's  splendid  reign, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  main  ? 

Yet  who  would  choose,  however  bright, 
A  dog-day  noon  without  a  night? 

—  Who  loves  not  Autumn's  joyous  round, 
When  corn,  and  wine,  and  oil  abound  ? 
Yet  who  would  choose,  however  gay, 

A  year  of  unrencw'd  decay  ? 

—  Who  loves  not  Winter's  awful  form  ? 
The  sphere-born  music  of  the  storm  ? 
Yet  who  would  choose,  how  grand  soever, 
The  shortest  day  to  last  for  ever? 

'Twas  in  that  age  renown'd,  remote, 
When  all  was  true  that  Esop  wrote; 
And  in  that  land  of  fair  Ideal, 
Where  all  that  poets  dream  is  real; 
Upon  a  day  of  annual  state, 
The  Seasons  met  in  high  debate. 
There  blush'd  young  Spring  in  maiden  pride, 
Blithe  Summer  look'd  a  gorgeous  bride, 

17 


Staid  Autumn  moved  with  matron-grace, 
And  beldame  Winter  pursed  her  face. 
Dispute  grew  wild;  all  talk'd  together; 
The  four  at  once  made  wondrous  weather; 
Nor  one  (whate'er  the  rest  had  shown) 
Heard  any  reason  but  her  own, 
While  each  (for  nothing  else  was  clear) 
Claim'd  the  whole  circle  of  the  year. 

Spring,  in  possession  of  the  field, 
Compell'd  her  sisters  soon  to  yield  : 
They  part,  —  resolved  elsewhere  to  try 
A  twelvemonth's  empire  of  the  sky; 
And  calling  off  their  airy  legions, 
Alighted  in  adjacent  regions. 
Spring  o'er  the  eastern  champaign  smiled, 
Fell  Winter  ruled  the  northern  wild, 
Summer  pursued  the  sun's  red  car, 
But  Autumn  loved  the  twilight  star. 

As  Spring  parades  her  new  domain, 
Love,  Beauty,  Pleasure,  hold  her  train  ; 
Her  footsteps  wake  the  flowers  beneath, 
That  start,  and  blush,  and  sweetly  breathe; 
Her  gales  on  nimble  pinions  rove, 
And  shake  to  foliage  every  grove ; 
Her  voice,  in  dell  and  thicket  heard, 
Cheers  on  the  nest  the  inother-bird ; 
The  ice-lock'd  streams,  as  if  they  felt 
Her  touch,  to  liquid  diamond  melt ; 
The  lambs  around  her  bleat  and  play ; 
The  serpent  flings  its  slough  away, 
And  shines  in  orient  colours  dight, 
A  flexile  ray  of  living  light. 
Nature  unbinds  her  wintry  shroud 
(As  the  soft  sunshine  melts  the  cloud), 
With  infant  gambols  sports  along, 
Bounds  iuto  youth,  and  soars  in  song. 
The  morn  impearls  her  locks  with  dew, 
Noon  spreads  a  sky  of  boundless  blue, 
The  rainbow  spans  the  evening  scene, 
The  night  is  silent  and  serene. 
Save  when  her  lonely  minstrel  wrings 
The  heart  with  sweetness  while  he  sings. 
—  Who  would  not  wish,  unrivall'd  here, 
That  Spring  might  frolic  all  the  year  ? 

Three  months  are  fled,  and  still  she  reigns, 
Exulting  queen  o'er  hills  and  plains  ; 


25S 


NARRATIVES. 


The  birds  renew  their  nuptial  vow, 

Nestlings  themselves  are  lovers  now; 

Fresh  broods  each  bending  bough  receives, 

Till  feathers  far  outnumber  leaves; 

But  kites  in  circles  swim  the  air, 

And  sadden  music  to  despair. 

The  stagnant  pools,  the  quaking  bogs, 

Teem,  croak,  and  crawl  with  hordes  of  frogs ; 

The  matted  woods,  the'  infected  earth, 

Are  venomous  with  reptile-birth  ; 

Armies  of  locusts  cloud  the  skies; 

With  beetles  hornets,  gnats  with  flies, 

Interminable  warfare  wage, 

And  madden  heaven  with  insect  rage. 

The  flowers  are  wither'd  ;  — sun  nor  dew 
Their  fallen  glories  shall  renew  ; 
The  flowers  are  wither'd  ;  — germ  nor  seed 
Ripen  in  garden,  wild  or  mead : 
The  corn-fields  shoot:  —  their  blades,  alas! 
Run  riot  in  luxuriant  grass. 
The  tainted  flocks,  the  drooping  kine, 
In  famine  of  abundance  pine, 
Where  vegetation,  sour,  unsound, 
And  loathsome,  rots  and  rankles  round; 
Nature  with  nature  seems  at  strife; 
Nothing  can  live  but  monstrous  life 
By  death  engender'd  ;  —  food  and  breath 
Are  turn'd  to  elements  of  death; 
And  where  the  soil  his  victims  strew, 
Corruption  quickens  them  anew. 

But  ere  the  year  was  half  expired, 
Spring  saw  her  folly,  and  retired; 
Yoked  her  light  chariot  to  a  breeze, 
And  mounted  to  the  Pleiades ; 
Content   with  them  to  rest  or  play 
Along  the  calm  nocturnal  way; 
Till,  heaven's  remaining  circuit  run, 
They  meet  the  pale  hyberual  sun, 
And,  gaily  mingling  in  his  blaze, 
Hail  the  true  dawn  of  vernal  days. 


THE  REIGN  OF  SUMMER. 

Tiik  hurricanes  are  fled!  the  rains, 

That  plough'd  the  mountains,  wreck'd  the  plains 

Have  pass'. I  away  before  the  wind, 

And  left  a  wilderness  behind, 


As  if  an  ocean  had  been  there 

Exhaled,  and  left  its  channels  bare. 

But,  with  a  new  and  sudden  birth, 

Nature  replenishes  the  earth  ; 

Plants,  flowers,  and  shrubs,  o'er  all  the  land 

So  promptly  rise,  so  thickly  stand, 

As  if  they  heard  a  voice, —  and  came, 

Each  at  the  calling  of  its  name. 

The  tree,  by  tempests  stript  and  rent, 

Expands  its  verdure  like  a  tent, 

Beneath  whose  shade,  in  weary  length, 

The'  enormous  lion  rests  his  strength, 

For  blood,  in  dreams  of  hunting,  burns, 

Or,  chased  himself,  to  fight  returns  ; 

Growls  in  his  sleep,  a  dreary  sound, 

Grinds  his  wedged  teeth,  and  spurns  the  ground; 

'While  monkeys,  in  grotesque  amaze, 

Down  from  their  bending  perches  gaze, 

But  when  he  lifts  his  eye  of  fire, 

Quick  to  the  topmost  boughs  retire. 

Loud  o'er  the  mountains  bleat  the  flocks; 
The  goat  is  bounding  on  the  rocks ; 
Far  in  the  valleys  range  the  herds ; 
The  welkin  gleams  with  flitting  birds, 
Whose  plumes  such  gorgeous  tints  adorn, 
They  seem  the  offspring  of  the  morn. 
From  nectar'd  flowers  and  groves  of  spice, 
Earth  breathes  the  air  of  Paradise; 
Her  mines  their  hidden  wealth  betray, 
Treasures  of  darkness  burst  to  day; 
O'er  golden  sands  the  rivers  glide, 
And  pearls  and  amber  track  the  tide. 
Of  every  sensual  bliss  possess'd, 
Man  riots  here;  —  but  is  he  bless'd? 
And  would  he  choose,  for  ever  bright, 
This  Summer-day  without  a  night? 
For  here  hath  Summer  fix'd  her  throne, 
Intent  to  reign,— and  reign  alone. 


Daily  the  sun,  in  his  career, 
Hotter  and  higher,  climbs  the  sphere, 
Till  from  the  zenith,  in  his  rays, 
Without  a  cloud  or  shadow,  blaze 
The  realms  beneath  him:  — in  his  march, 
On  the  blue  key-stone  of  heaven's  arcb, 
He  stands;  — air,  earth,  and  ocean  lie 
Within  the  presence  of  his  eye, 
The  wheel  of  Nature  seems  to  rest, 
Nor  rolls  him  onward  to  the  west, 


NARRATIVES. 


201/ 


Till  thrice  three  days  of  noon  unchanged, 
That  torrid  clime  have  so  deranged, 
Nine  years  may  not  the  wrong  repair; 
But  Summer  checks  the  ravage  there  ; 
Vet  still  enjoins  the  sun  to  steer 
By  the  stern  Dog-star  round  the  year, 
AVith  dire  extremes  of  day  and  night, 
Tartarean  gloom,  celestial  light. 

In  vain  the  gaudy  season  shines, 
Her  beauty  fades,  her  power  declines: 
Then  first  her  bosom  felt  a  care; 
—  No  healing  breeze  embalm'd  the  air,     . 
No  mist  the  mountain-tops  bedew'd, 
No  shower  the  arid  vale  renew'd  ; 
The  herbage  shrunk  ;  the  ploughman's  toil 
Scatter'd  to  dust  the  crumbling  soil  ; 
Blossoms  were  shed ;  the'  umbrageous  wood, 
Laden  with  sapless  foliage,  stood  ; 
The  streams,  impoverished  day  by  da}', 
Lessen'd  insensibly  away  ; 
Where  cattle  sought,  with  piteous  moans, 
The  vanish'd  lymph,  midst  burning  stones, 
And  tufts  of  wither'd  reeds,  that  fill 
The  wonted  channel  of  the  rill; 
Till,  stung  with  hornets,  mad  with  thirst, 
In  sudden  rout,  away  they  burst, 
Nor  rest,  till  where  some  channel  deep 
Gleams  in  small  pools,  whose  waters  sleep  ; 
There  with  huge  draught  and  eager  eye 
Drink  for  existence,— drink  and  die  ! 

But  direr  evils  soon  arose, 
Hopeless,  unmitigable  woes  : 
Man  proves  the  shock ;  through  all  his  veins 
The  frenzy  of  the  season  reigns; 
With  pride,  lust,  rage,  ambition  blind, 
He  burns  in  every  fire  of  mind, 
AVhich  kindles  from  insane  desire, 
Or  fellest  hatred  can  inspire; 
Reckless  whatever  ill  befall, 
He  dares  to  do  and  suffer  all 
That  heart  can  think,  that  arm  can  deal, 
Or  out  of  hell  a  fury  feel. 

There  stood  in  that  romantic  clime, 
A  mountain  awfully  sublime; 
O'er  many  a  league  the  basement  spread, 
It  tower'd  in  many  an  airy  head, 


Height  over  height,  — now  gay,  now  wild, 

The  peak  with  ice  eternal  piled ; 

Pure  in  mid-heaven,  that  crystal  cone 

A  diadem  of  glory  shone, 

Reflecting,  in  the  night-fall'n  sky, 

The  beams  of  day's  departed  eye  ; 

Or  holding,  ere  the  dawn  begun, 

Communion  with  the'  unrisen  sun. 

The  cultured  sides  were  clothed  with  woods, 

Vineyards,    and     fields;     or     track'd    with 

floods, 
Whose  glacier  fountains,  hid  on  high, 
Sent  down  their  rivers  from  the  sky. 
O'er  plains,  that  mark'd  its  gradual  scale, 
On  sunny  slope,  in  shelter'd  vale, 
Earth's  universal  tenant, —  Ue, 
Who  lives  wherever  life  may  be, 
Sole,  social,  fix'd,  or  free  to  roam, 
Always  and  every  where  at  home, 
Max  pitch'd  his  tents,  adorn'd  his  bowers, 
Built  temples,  palaces,  and  towers, 
And  made  that  Alpine  world  his  own, 
—  The  miniature  of  every  zone, 
From  brown  savannas  parch'd  below, 
To  ridges  of  cerulean  snow. 

Those  high-lands  form'd  a  last  retreat 

Prom  rabid  Summer's  fatal  heat; 

Though  not  unfelt  her  fervours  there, 

Vernal  and  cool  the  middle  air; 

While  from  the  icy  pyramid 

Streams  of  unfailing  freshness  slid, 

That  long  had  slaked  the  thirsty  land, 

Till  avarice,  with  insatiate  hand, 
Their  currents  check'd  ;  in  sunless  caves, 
And  rock-bound  dells,  ingulf'd  the  waves, 
And  thence  in  scanty  measures  doled, 
Or  turn'd  heaven's  bounty  into  gold. 
Ere  long  the  dwellers  on  the  plain 
Murmur'd  ;  —  their  murmurs  were  in  vain  ; 
Petition'd,  — but  their  prayers  were  spurn'd; 
Threaten'd,  —  defiance  was  return'd  • 
Then  rang  both  regions  with  alarms  ; 
Blood-kindling  trumpets  blew  to  arms  ; 
The  maddening  drum  and  deafening  fife 
Marshall'd  the  element  of  strife  : 
Sternly  the  mountaineers  maintain 
Their  rights  against  the'  insurgent  plain; 
The  plain's  indignant  myriads  rose 
To  wrest  the  mountain  from  their  foes, 


260 


NARRATIVES. 


Resolved  its  blessings  to  enjoy 
By  dint  of  valour,  —  or  destroy. 

The  legions  met  in  war-array  ; 
The  mountaineers  brook'd  no  delay  ; 
Aside  their  missile  weapons  threw, 
From  holes  impregnable  withdrew, 
And,  rashly  brave,  with  sword  and  shield, 
Rush'd  headlong  to  the  open  field. 
Their  foes  the'  auspicious  omen  took, 
And  raised  a  battle-shout  that  shook 
The     champaign  ;  —  staunch     and     keen 

blood, 
Front  threatening  front,  the  columns  stood; 
But,  while  like  thunder-clouds  they  frown, 
In  tropic  haste  the  sun  went  down  ; 
Night  o'er  both  armies  stretch'd  her  tent, 
The  star-bespangled  firmament, 
Whose  placid  host,  revolving  slow, 
Smile  on  the'  impatient  hordes  below, 
That  chafe  and  fret  the  hours  away, 
Curse  the  dull  gloom,  and  long  for  day, 
Though  destined  by  their  own  decree 
No  other  day  nor  night  to  see. 

—  That  night  is  past,  that  day  begun  ; 
Swift  as  he  sunk  ascends  the  sun, 
And  from  the  red  horizon  springs 
Upward,  as  borne  on  eagle  wings  : 
Aslant  each  army's  lengthen'd  lines, 
O'er  shields  and  helms  he  proudly  shines, 
While  spears  that  catch  his  lightnings  keen 
Flash  them  athwart  the  space  between. 
Before  the  battle-shock,  when  breath 

And  pulse  are  still, —  awaiting  death; 

In  that  cold  pause,  which  seems  to  be 

A  prelude  to  eternity, 

When  fear,  ere  yet  a  blow  is  dealt, 

Betray'd  by  none,  by  all  is  felt: 

While,  moved  beneath  their  feet,  the  tomb 

Widens  her  lap  to  make  them  room; 

—  Till,  in  the  onset  of  the  fray, 
Fear,  feeling,  thought,  are  cast  away, 
And  foaming,  raging,  mingling  foes, 
Like  billows  dash'd  in  conflict,  close, 
Charge,  strike,  repel,  wound,  struggle,  fly, 
Gloriously  win,  unconquer'd  die;  — 
Here,  in  dread  silence,  while  they  stand, 
Each  with  a  death-stroke  in  his  hand, 
His  eye  fix'd  forward,  and  his  car 
Tingling  the  signal  blast  to  hear, 


The  trumpet  sounds  ;  — one  note, —  no  more; 
The  field,  the  fight,  the  war  is  o'er; 
An  earthquake  rent  the  void  between  ; 
A  moment  show'd,  and  shut,  the  scene; 
Men,  chariots,  steeds, —  of  either  host 
The  flower,  the  pride,  the  strength  were  lost; 
A  solitude  remains  ;  —  the  dead 
Are  buried  there, —  the  living  fled. 


Nor  yet  the  reign  of  Summer  closed  ; 

—  At  night  in  their  own  homes  reposed 
f"r               The  fugitives  on  cither  side, 

Who  'scaped  the  death  their  comrades  died; 

When,  lo  !  with  many  a  giddy  shock 

The  mountain-cliffs  began  to  rock, 

And  deep  below  the  hollow  ground 

Ran  a  strange  mystery  of  sound, 

As  if,  in  chains  and  torments  there, 

Spirits  were  venting  their  despair. 

That  sound,  those  shocks,  the  sleepers  woke ; 

In  trembling  consternation,  broke 

Forth  from  their  dwellings  young  and  old; 

—  Nothing  abroad  their  eyes  behold 
But  darkness  so  intensely  wrought, 
'Twas  blindness  in  themselves  they  thought. 
Anon,  aloof,  with  sudden  rays, 
Issued  so  fierce,  so  broad,  a  blaze, 
That  darkness  started  into  light, 
And  every  eye,  restored  to  sight, 
Gazed  on  the  glittering  crest  of  snows, 
Whence  the  bright  conflagration  rose, 
Whose  flames  condensed  at  once  aspire, 

—  A  pillar  of  celestial  fire, 
Alone  amidst  infernal  shade, 
In  glorious  majesty  display'd  : 
Beneath,  from  rifted  caverns,  broke 
Volumes  of  suffocating  smoke, 
That  roll'd  in  surges,  like  a  flood; 
By  the  red  radiance,  turned  to  blood; 
Morn  look'd  aghast  upon  the  scene, 
Nor  could  a  sunbeam  pierce  between 
The  panoply  of  vapours,  spread 
Above,  around,  the  mountain's  head. 

In  distant  fields,  with  drought  consumed, 
Joy  swell'd  all  hearts,  all  eyes  illumed, 
When  from  that  peak,  through  lowering  skies, 
Thick  curling  clouds  were  seen  to  rise, 
And  hang  o'er  all  the  darken'd  plain, 
The  presage  of  descending  rain. 


NARRATIVES. 


261 


The'  exulting  cattle  bound  along; 
The  tuneless  birds  attempt  a  song; 
The  swain,  amidst  his  sterile  lands, 
With  outstretch'd  arms  of  rapture  stands. 
But  fraught  with  plague  and  curses  came 
The'  insidious  progeny  of  flame  ; 
Ah  !  then, —  for  fertilising  showers, 
The  pledge  of  herbage,  fruits,  and  flower- 
Words  cannot  paint,  how  every  eye 
(Blood-shot  and  dim  with  agony) 
Was  glazed,  as  by  a  palsying  spell, 
When  light  sulphureous  ashes  fell, 
Dazzling,  and  eddying  to  and  fro, 
Like  wildering  sleet  or  feathery  snow  : 
Strewn  with  grey  pumice  Nature  lies, 
At  every  motion  quick  to  rise, 
Tainting  with  livid  fumes  the  air ; 
— Then  hope  lies  down  in  prone  despair, 
And  man  and  beast,  with  misery  dumb, 
Sullenly  brood  on  woes  to  come. 

The  mountain  now,  like  living  earth, 
Pregnant  with  some  stupendous  birth, 
Heaved,  in  the  anguish  of  its  throes, 
Sheer  from  its  crest  the'  incumbent  snows; 
And  where  of  old  they  chill'd  the  sky, 
Beneath  the  sun's  meridian  eye, 
Or,  purpling  in  the  golden  west, 
Appear'd  his  evening  throne  of  rest, 
There,  black,  and  bottomless,  and  wide, 
A  cauldron,  rent  from  side  to  side, 
Simmer'd  and  hiss'd  with  huge  turmoil; 
Earth's  disembowell'd  minerals  boil, 
And  thence  in  molten  torrents  rush : 
— Water  and  fire,  like  sisters,  gush 
From  the  same  source ;  the  double  stream 
Meets,  battles,  and  explodes  in  steam; 
Then  fire  prevails ;  and  broad  and  deep 
Red  lava  roars  from  steep  to  steep  ; 
While  rocks  unseated,  woods  upriven, 
Are  headlong  down  the  current  driven  ; 
Columnar  flames  are  wrapt  aloof, 
In  whirlwind  forms,  to  heaven's  high  roof, 
And  there,  amidst  transcendent  gloom, 
Image  the  wrath  beyond  the  tomb. 

The  mountaineers,  in  wild  affright, 
Too  late  for  safety,  urge  their  flight ; 


Women,  made  childless  in  the  fray  ; 

Women,  made  mothers  yesterday; 

The  sick,  the  aged,  and  the  blind; 

—  None  but  the  dead  are  left  behind, 

Painful  their  journey,  toilsome,  slow, 

Beneath  their  feet  quick  embers  glow, 

And  hurtle  round  in  dreadful  hail  : 

Their  limbs,  their  hearts,  their  senses  fail, 

While  many  a  victim,  by  the  way, 

Buried  alive  in  ashes  lay, 

Or  perish'd  by  the  lightning's  stroke, 

Before  the  slower  thunder  broke. 

A  few  the  open  field  explore : 

The  throng  seek  refuge  on  the  shore, 

Between  two  burning  rivers  hemm'd, 

Whose  rage  nor  mounds  nor  hollows  stemm'd; 

Driven  like  a  herd  of  deer,  they  reach 

The  lonely,  dark,  and  silent  beach, 

Where,  calm  as  innocence  in  sleep, 

Expanded  lies  the'  unconscious  deep. 

Awhile  the  fugitives  respire, 

And  watch  those  cataracts  of  fire 

(That  bar  escape  on  either  hand) 

Rush  on  the  ocean  from  the  strand ; 

Back  from  the  onset  rolls  the  tide, 

But  instant  clouds  the  conflict  hide  ; 

The  lavas  plunge  to  gulfs  unknown, 

And,  as  they  plunge,  collapse  to  stone. 

Meanwhile  the  mad  volcano  grew 
Tenfold  more  terrible  to  view ; 
And  thunders,  such  as  shall  be  hurl'd 
At  the  death-sentence  of  the  world  ; 
And  lightnings,  such  as  shall  consume 
Creation,  and  creation's  tomb, 
Nor  leave,  amidst  the'  eternal  void, 
One  trembling  atom  undestroy'd; 
Such  thunders  crash'd,  such  lightnings  glared  : 
— Another  fate  those  outcasts  shared, 
When,  with  one  desolating  sweep, 
An  earthquake  seem'd  to'  ingulf  the  deep, 
Then  threw  it  back,  and  from  its  bed 
Hung  a  whole  ocean  overhead; 
The  victims  shriek'd  beneath  the  wave, 
And  in  a  moment  found  one  grave; 
Down  to  the'  abyss  the  flood  return'd — 
Alone,  unseen,  the  mountain  burn'd. 
1815. 


262 


NARRATIVES. 


ABU  ALL  AH  AND  SABAT.' 

[Originally  published  with  "  Alxlallah,  or  the  Christian 
Martyr."  by  Thomas  Foster  Barham,  Esq.] 

From  West  Arabia  to  Bochara  came 
A  noble  youth,  Abdallah  was  his  name; 
Who  journey 'd  through  the  various  East  to  find 
New  forms  of  man,  in  feature,  habit,  mind; 
Where  Tartar-hordes  through  nature's  pastures  run, 
A  race  of  Centaurs, —  horse  and  rider  one  ; 
Where  the  soft  Persian  maid  the  breath  inhales 
Of  love-sick  roses,  woo'd  by  nightingales ; 
Where  India's  grim  array  of  idols  seem 
The  rabble-phantoms  of  a  maniac's  dream : 

—  Himself  the  flowery  path  of  trespass  trod, 
Which  the  false  Prophet  deck'd  to  lure  from  God. 
But  He,  who  changed  into  the  faith  of  Paul, 
The  slaughter-breathing  enmity  of  Saul, 
Vouchsafed  to  meet  Abdallah  by  the  way : 

No  miracle  of  light  eclipsed  the  day; 

No  vision  from  the'  eternal  world,  nor  sound 

Of  awe  and  wonder,  smote  him  to  the  ground; 

All  mild  and  calm,  with  power  till  then  unknown, 

The  Gospel-glory  through  his  darkness  shone; 

A  still  small  whisper,  only  heard  within, 

Convinced  the  trembling  penitent  of  sin  ; 

And  Jesus,  whom  the  Iuiidel  abhorr'd, 

The  Convert  now  invoked,  and  call'd  him  Lord. 

Escaping  from  the  lewd  Impostor's  snare, 

As  flits  a  bird  released  through  boundless  air, 

And,  soaring  up  the  pure  blue  ether,  sings, 

—  So  rose  his  Spirit  on  exulting  wings. 

But  love,  joy,  peace,  the  Christian's  bliss  below, 

Are  deeply  mingled  in  a  cup  of  woe, 

Which  none  can  pass: — he,  counting  all  things  loss 

For  his  Redeemer,  gladly  bore  the  cross: 

Soon  call'd.  with  life,  to  lay  that  burden  down, 

In  the  first  fight  he  won  the  Martyr's  crown. 

Abdallah's  friend  was  Sabat ;  —  one  of  those 
Whom  love  estranged  transforms  to  bitterest  foes: 
From  persecution  to  that  friend  he  fled ; 
But  Sabat  pour'd  reproaches  on  bis  head, 
Spurn'd  like  a  leprous  plague  the  prostrate  youth, 
And  hated  him  as  falsehood  hates  the  truth  : 
Yet  first  with  sophistry  and  menace  tried 
To  turn  him  from  "the  faithful  word"  aside; 

'  See  Buchanan's  ••  Christian  Researches  in  India."  for 
the  martyrdom  of  Abdallah,  and  the  conversion  and  labours 
of  Sabat. 


All  failing,  old  esteem  to  rancour  turn'd, 

With  Mahomet's  own  reckless  rage  he  burn'd. 

A  thousand  hideous  thoughts,  like  fiends,  possess'd 

The  Pandemonium  of  the  Bigot's  breast, 

Whose  fires,  enkindled  from  the'  infernal  lake, 

Abdallah's  veins,  unsluiced,  alone  could  slake. 

The  victim  dragg'd  to  slaughter  by  his  friend, 
Witness'd  a  good  confession  to  the  end. 

—  Bochara  pour'd  her  people  forth  to  gaze 
Upon  the  direst  scene  the  world  displays, 
The  blood  of  innocence  by  treason  spilt, 
The  reeking  triumph  of  deep-branded  guilt: 

—  Bochara  pour'd  her  people  forth,  to  eye 
The  loveliest  spectacle  beneath  the  sky, 

The  look  with  which  a  Martyr  yields  his  breath, 

—  The  resurrection  of  the  soul  in  death. 
"Renounce  the  Nazarene!"  the  headsman  cries, 
And  flash'd  the  unstain'd  falchion  in  his  eyes : 
"No  ! — be  his  name  by  heaven  and  earth  adored  !" 
He  said,  and  gave  his  right  hand  to  the  sword. 
"Renounce  Him,  who  forsakes  thee  thus  bereft;" 
He  wept,  but  spake  not,  and  resign'd  his  left. 
"Renounce  Him  now,  who  will  not,  cannot  save;" 
He  kneel'd  like  Stephen,  look'd  beyond  the  grave, 
And,    while    the    dawn    of    heaven    around    him 

broke, 
Bow'd  his  meek  head  to  the  dissevering  stroke : 
Out-cast  on  earth  a  mangled  body  lay ; 
A  spirit  enter'd  Paradise  that  day. 

But    where    is    Sabat? — Conscience -struck   he 

stands, 
With  eye  of  agony  and  fast-lock'd  hands. 
Abdallah,  in  the  moment  to  depart, 
Had   turn'd,   and   look'd   the   traitor   through    the 

heart : 
It  smote  him  like  a  judgment  from  above, 
That  gentle  look  of  wrong'd  forgiving  love  ! 
Then  hatred  vanish'd ;  suddenly  repress'd 
Were  the  strange  flames  of  passion  in  his  breast; 
Nought  but  the  smouldering  ashes  of  despair, 
Blackness  of  darkness,  death  of  death,  were  there. 
Ere  long,  wild  whirlwinds  of  remorse  arise; 
He  flies, —  from  all  except  himself  he  flies, 
And  a  low  voice  for  ever  thrilling  near, 
The  voice  of  blood,  which  none  but  he  can  hear. 

"  The  Christian  Observer,"  February,  1818,  contains  the 
account  of  Sabat's  dreadful  fate. 


NARRATIVES. 


263 


He  fled  from  guilt;  but  guilt  and  lie  were  one, 
A  Spirit  seeking  rest  and  finding  none  ; 
Visions  of  horror  haunted  him  by  night, 
Yet  darkness  was  less  terrible  than  light  ; 
From  dreams  of  woe  when  startled  nature  broke, 
To  woes  that  were  not  dreams  the  wretch  awoke. 
Forlorn  he  ranged  through  India,  till  the  Power, 
That  met  Abdallah  in  a  happier  hour, 
Arrested  Sabat:  through  his  soul  he  felt 
The  word  of  truth  ;  his  heart  began  to  melt, 
And  yielded  slowly,  as  cold  Winter  yields 
When   the  warm   Spring  comes   flushing  o'er   the 

fields ; 
Then  first  a  tear  of  gladness  swell'd  his  eye, 
Then  first  his  bosom  heaved  a  healthful  sigh  ; 
That  bosom  parch'd  as  Afric's  desert  land  ; 
That  eye  a  flint-stone  in  the  burning  sand. 

—  Peace,  pardon,  hope,  eternal  joy,  reveal'd, 
Humbled  his  heart :  before  the  cross  he  kneel'd, 
Look'd  up  to  Him  whom  once  he  pierced,  and  bore 
The  name  of  Christ  which  he  blasphemed  before. 

—  Was  Sabat  then  subdued  by  love  or  fear  ? 
And  who  shall  vouch  that  he  was  not  sincere? 

Now  with  a  Convert's  zeal  his  ardent  mind 
Glow'd  with  the  common  weal  of  all  mankind; 
Yet  with  intenser  faith  the'  Arabian  pray'd, 
When   homeward   thought  thro'  childhood's  Eden 
stray'd. 

—  There,  in  the  lap  of  Yemen's  happiest  vale, 
The  shepherds'  tents  are  waving  to  the  gale  ; 
The  Patriarch  of  their  tribe,  his  sire,  he  sees 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  ambrosial  trees; 

His  Sisters,  from  the  fountain  in  the  rock, 
Pour  the  cool  sparkling  water  to  their  flock  : 
His  Brethren,  rapt  on  steeds  and  camels,  roam 
O'er  wild  and  mountain,  all  the  land  their  own : 

—  Thither  he  long'd  to  send  that  book,  unseal'd, 
Whose  words  are  life,  whose  leaves  his  wounds  had 

heal'd ; 
That  Ishmael,  living  by  his  sword  and  bow, 
Might  thus  again  the  God  of  Abraham  know; 
And  Mecean  Pilgrims  to  Caaba's  shrine, 
Like  locusts  marching  in  perpetual  line, 
Might  quit  the  broad  to  choose  the  narrow  path, 
That  leads  to  glory,  and  reclaims  from  wrath. 

Fired  with  the  hope  to  bless  his  native  soil, 
Years  roll'd  unfelt,  in  consecrated  toil. 


To  mould  the  truths  which  holy  writers  teach 
In  the  loved  accents  of  his  mother's  speech ; 
While,  like  the  sun,  that  always  to  the  west 
Leads  the  bright  day,  his  fervent  spirit  press'd, 
Thither  a  purer  light  from  Heaven  to  dart, 

—  The  only  light  that  reaches  to  the  heart; 
Whose  deserts  blossom  where  its  beams  are  shed, 
The  blind  behold  them,  and  they  raise  the  dead. 
Nor  by  Arabia  were  his  labours  bound, 

To  Persian  lips  he  taught  "  the  joyful  sound." 
Would  he  had  held  unchanged  that  high  career! 

—  But  Sabat  fell  like  lightning  from  his  sphere: 
Onee  with  the  morning  stars  God's  works  he  sung; 
Anon  a  Serpent,  with  envenom'd  tongue, 

Like  that  apostate  fiend  who  tempted  Eve, 
Gifted  with  speech, —  he  spake  but  to  deceive. 

Let  pity  o'er  his  errors  cast  a  veil ! 
Haste  to  the  sequel  of  his  tragic  tale. 
Sabat  became  a  vagabond  on  earth  : 

—  He  chose  the  sinner's  way,  the  scorner's  mirth  ; 
Now  feign'd  contrition  with  obdurate  tears, 
Then  wore  a  bravery  that  betray'd  his  fears  ! 
With  oaths  and  curses  now  his  Lord  denied, 
And  strangled  guilty  shame  with  desperate  pride ; 
While  inly-rack'd  he  proved  what  culprits  feel, 
When  conscience  breaks  remembrance  on  the  wheel. 
At  length  an  outlaw  through  the  orient  isles, 
Snared  in  the  subtilty  of  his  own  wiles, 

He  perish'd  in  an  unexpected  hour, 
To  glut  the  vengeance  of  barbarian  power ; 
With  sackcloth  shrouded,  to  a  millstone  bound, 
And  in  the'  abysses  of  the  ocean  drown'd. 

—  Oh  !  what  a  plunge  into  the  dark  was  there  ! 
How  ended  life  ?  • —  In  blasphemy  or  prayer  ? 
The  winds  are  fled  that  heard  his  parting  cry, 
The  waves  that  stifled  it  make  no  reply. 

When,  at  the  resurrection  of  the  Just, 
Earth  shall  yield  back  Abdallah  from  the  dust, 
The  sea,  like  rising  clouds,  give  up  its  dead, 
Then  from  the  deep  shall  Sabat  lift  his  head. 
With  waking  millions  round  the  judgment-seat, 
Once,  and  but  once  again,  those  twain  shall  meet, 
To  part  for  ever,  —  or  to  part  no  more ; 
—  But  who  the'  eternal  secret  shall  explore, 
When  Justice  seals  the  gates  of  heaven  and  hell  ? 
The  rest  — that  day,  that  day  alone,  will  tell. 

1821. 


264 


NARRATIVES. 


In  prison  I  saw  him  next  condemn'd 

THE  STRANGER  AND  HIS  FRIEND. 

To  meet  a  traitor's  doom  at  morn  ; 

The  tide  of  lying  tongues  I  stemm'd, 

':  Ye  have  done  it  unto  me."  —  Malt.  xxv.  40. 

And  honour'd  him  midst  shame  and  scorn  ; 

My  friendship's  utmost  zeal  to  try, 

A  poor  wayfaring  Man  of  grief 

He  ask'd  if  I  for  him  would  die ; 

Hath  often  cross'd  me  on  my  way, 

The  flesh  was  weak,  my  blood  ran  chill, 

Who  sued  so  humbly  for  relief, 

But  the  free  spirit  cried,  "I  will." 

That  I  could  never  answer  "  Nay  ;  " 

I  had  not  power  to  ask  his  name, 

Then  in  a  moment  to  my  view 

Whither  he  went,  or  whence  he  came, 

The  stranger  darted  from  disguise; 

The  tokens  in  his  hands  I  knew, 

Yet  was  there  something  in  his  eve 

My  Saviour  stood  before  mine  eyes  : 

That  won  my  love,  I  kndw  not  why. 

He  spake;  and  my  poor  name  He  named; 

"  Of  me  thou  bast  not  been  ashamed; 

Once,  when  my  scanty  meal  was  spread, 

These  deeds  shall  thy  memorial  be; 

ne  enter'd  ;  —  not  a  word  he  spake  ;  — 

Fear  not,  thou  didst  them  unto  Me." 

Just  perishing  for  want  of  bread  ; 

I  gave  him  all :  he  bless'd  it,  brake, 

Scarborough,  Dec.  1S26. 

And  ate,  —  but  gave  me  part  again ; 

Mine  was  an  angel's  portion  then, 

For  while  I  fed  with  eager  haste, 

That  crust  was  manna  to  my  taste. 

THE  ADVENTURE  OF  A  STAR. 

I  spied  him,  where  a  fountain  burst 

ADDRESSED    TO    A    Y0UXG   LADY. 

Clear  from  the  rock  ;  his  strength  was  gone  ; 

The  heedless  water  mock'd  his  thirst, 

A  star  would  be  a  flower; 

He  heard  it,  saw  it  hurrying  on ; 

So  down  from  heaven  it  came, 

I  ran  to  raise  the  sufferer  up  ; 

And  in  a  honeysuckle  bower 

Thrice  from  the  stream  he  drain'd  my  cup, 

Lit  up  its  little  flame. 

Dipp'd  and  return'd  it  running  o'er; 

There  on  a  bank,  beneath  the  shade, 

I  drank,  and  never  thirsted  more. 

By  sprays,  and  loaves,  and  blossoms  made, 

It  overlook'd  the  garden  ground, — 

'Twas  night,  the  floods  were  out ;  it  blew 

A  landscape  stretching  ten  yards  round; 

A  winter  hurricane  aloof; 

0  what  a  change  of  place 

I  heard  his  voice  abroad,  and  flew 

From  gazing  through  the  eternity  of  space ! 

To  bid  him  welcome  to  my  roof; 

I  warm'd,  I  clothed,  I  cheer'd  my  guest, 

Gay  plants  on  every  side 

Laid  him  on  my  own  couch  to  rest  ; 

Unclosed  their  lovely  blooms, 

Then  made  the  hearth  my  bed,  and  seem'd 

And  scatter'd  far  and  wide 

In  Eden's  garden  while  I  dream'd. 

Their  ravishing  perfumes : 

The  butterfly,  the  bee, 

Stript,  wounded,  beaten,  nigh  to  death, 

And  many  an  insect  on  the  wing, 

I  found  him  by  the  highway-side  ; 

Full  of  the  spirit  of  the  Spring, 

I  roused  his  pulse,  brought  back  his  breath, 

Flew  round  and  round  in  endless  glee, 

Revived  his  spirit,  and  supplied 

Alighting  here,  ascending  there, 

Wine,  oil,  refreshment;  he  was  heal'd  ; 

Ranging  and  revelling  every  where. 

—  I  had  myself  a  wound  conceal'd  ; 

But  from  that  hour  forgot  the  smart, 

Now  all  the  flowers  were  up  and  drest 

And  Peace  bound  up  my  broken  heart. 

In  robes  of  rainbow-colour'd  light; 

NARRATIVES.                                                                   2C5 

The  pale  primroses  look'd  their  best, 

Were  smiling,  blushing,  dancing  there, 

Peonies  blush'd  with  all  their  might ; 

Feasting  on  dew,  and  light,  and  air, 

Dutch  tulips  from  their  beds 

And  fearing  no  mishap, 

Flaunted  their  stately  heads  ; 

Save  from  the  hand  of  lady  fair, 

Auriculas,  like  belles  and  beaux, 

Who,  on  her  wonted  walk, 

Glittering  with  birthnight  splendour,  rose; 

Pluck'd  one  and  then  another, 

And  polyanthuses  display'd 

A  sister  or  a  brother, 

The  brilliance  of  their  gold  brocade: 

From  its  elastic  stalk; 

Here  hyacinths  of  heavenly  blue 

Happy,  no  doubt,  for  one  sharp  pang,  to  die 

Shook  their  rich  tresses  to  the  morn 

On  her  sweet  bosom,  withering  in  her  eye. 

While  rose-buds  scarcely  show'd  their  hue, 

But  coyly  linger'd  on  the  thorn, 

Thus  all  day  long,  that  star's  hard  lot, 

Till  their  loved  nightingale,  who  tarried  long, 

While  bliss  and  beauty  ran  to  waste, 

Should  wake  them  into  beauty  with  his  song. 

Was  but  to  witness  on  the  spot 

The  violets  were  past  their  prime, 

Beauty  and  bliss  it  could  not  taste. 

Yet  their  departing  breath 

At  length  the  sun  went  down,  and  then 

Was  sweeter,  in  the  blast  of  death, 

Its  faded  glory  came  again ; 

Than  all  the  lavish  fragrance  of  the  time. 

With  brighter,  bolder,  purer  light, 

It  kindled  through  the  deepening  night, 

Amidst  this  gorgeous  train, 

Till  the  green  bower,  so  dim  by  day, 

Our  truant  star  shone  forth  in  vain  ; 

Glow'd  like  a  fairy-palace  with  its  beams; 

Though  in  a  wreath  of  periwinkle, 

In  vain,  for  sleep  on  all  the  borders  lay, 

Through  whose  fine  gloom  it  tried  to  twinkle, 

The  flowers  were  laughing  in  the  land  of  dreams,    j 

It  seem'd  no  bigger  to  the  view 

Our  star,  in  melancholy  state, 

Than  the  light  spangle  in  a  drop  of  dew. 

Still  sigh'd  to  find  itself  alone, 

—  Astronomers  may  shake  their  polls, 

Neglected,  cold,  and  desolate, 

And  tell  me  every  orb  that  rolls 

Unknowing  and  unknown; 

Through  heaven's  sublime  expanse 

Lifting  at  last  an  anxious  eye, 

Is  sun  or  world,  whose  speed  and  size 

It  saw  that  circlet  empty  in  the  sky 

Confound  the  stretch  of  mortal  eyes, 

Where  it  was  wont  to  roll 

In  Nature's  mystic  dance  : 

Within  a  span-breadth  of  the  pole  : 

It  may  be  so 

In  that  same  instant,  sore  amazed, 

For  aught  I  know, 

On  the  strange  blank  all  Nature  gazed; 

Or  aught  indeed  that  they  can  show; 

Travellers,  bewilder'd  for  their  guide, 

Yet,  till  they  prove  what  they  aver, 

In  glens  and  forests  lost  their  way; 

From  this  plain  truth  I  will  not  stir, — 

And  ships,  on  ocean's  trackless  tide, 

A  star's  a  star  !  —  but  when  I  think 

Went  fearfully  astray. 

Of  sun  or  world,  the  star  I  sink ; 

The  star,  now  wiser  for  its  folly,  knew 

Wherefore  in  verse,  at  least  in  mine, 

Its  duty,  dignity,  and  bliss  at  home ; 

Stars  like  themselves,  in  spite  of  fate,  shall  shine. 

So  up  to  heaven  again  it  flew, 

Resolved  no  more  to  roam. 

Now,  to  return  (for  we  have  wander'd  far) 
To  what  was  nothing  but  a  simple  star; 

One  hint  the  humble  bard  may  send 

— Where  all  was  jollity  around, 

To  her  for  whom  these  lines  are  penn'd: 

No  fellowship  the  stranger  found. 

—  0  may  it  be  enough  for  her 

Those  lowliest  children  of  the  earth, 

To  shine  in  her  own  character ! 

That  never  leave  their  mother's  lap, 

0  may  she  be  content  to  grace, 

Companions  in  their  harmless  mirth, 

On  earth,  in  heaven,  her  proper  place  ! 

1825. 

266 


NARRATIVES. 


THE  SAND  AND  THE  ROCK. 

•I  will  open  my  dark  saying  upon  the  harp.''  —  Psalm 
xlix.  i. 

Part  I. 

DESTRUCTION. 

I  built  my  house  upon  the  sand, 

And  saw  its  image  in  the  sea, 
That  seem'd  as  stable  as  the  land, 

And  beautiful  as  heaven  to  me. 

For  in  the  clear  and  tranquil  tide, 

As  in  a  nether  firmament, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  appear'd  to  glide, 

And  lights  and  shadows  came  and  went. 

I  ate  and  drank,  I  danced  and  sung, 
Reclined  at  ease,  at  leisure  stroll'd, 

Collecting  shells  and  pebbles,  flung 
Upon  the  beach  for  gems  and  gold. 

I  said  unto  my  soul,  "Rejoice 

In  safety,  wealth,  and  pleasure  here!" 

But,  while  I  spake,  a  secret  voice 

Within  my  bosom  whisper'd,  "Fear!" 

I  heeded  not,  but  went  to  rest, 

Prayerless,  once  more,  beneath  my  roof. 

Nor  deem'd  the  eagle  on  his  nest 
More  peril-free,  more  tempest-proof. 

But  in  the  dead  and  midnight  hour 
A  storm  came  down  upon  the  deep ; 

Wind,  rain,  and  lightning,  such  a  stour, 
Methought  'twas  doomsday  in  my  sleep. 

I  strove,  but  could  not  wake, — -the  stream 

Beat  vehemently  on  my  wall; 
I  felt  it  tottering  in  my  dream  ; 

It  fell,  and  dreadful  was  the  fall. 

Swept  with  the  ruins  down  the  flood, 

I  woke ;  home,  hope,  and  heart  were  gone  : 

My  brain  flash'd  fire,  ice  thrill'd  my  blood; 
Life,  life,  was  all  I  thought  upon. 

Death,  death,  was  all  that  met  my  eye; 
Deep  swallow'd  deep,  wave  buried  wave : 


I  look'd  in  vain  for  land  and  sky ; 
All  was  one  sea, —  that  sea  one  grave. 

I  struggled  through  the  strangling  tide, 
As  though  a  bowstring  wrung  my  neck; 

'•'  Help  !  help  !"  voice  fail'd,— I  fain  had  cried, 
And  clung  convulsive  to  the  wreck. 

Not  long, —  for  suddenly  a  spot 

Of  darkness  fell  upon  my  brain, 
WMeh  spread  and  press'd,  till  I  forgot 

All  pain,  iu  that  excess  of  paiu. 

Part  II. 

TRANSITION. 

Two  woes  were  past ;  a  worse  befell : 

When  I  revived,  the  sea  had  fled; 
Beneath  me  yawn'd  the  gulf  of  hell, 

Broad  as  the  vanish'd  ocean's  bed. 

Downward  I  seem'd  to  plunge  through  space, 

As  lightning  flashes  and  expires, 
Yet  —  how,  I  knew  not  —  turn'd  my  face 

Away  from  those  terrific  fires;  — 

And  saw  in  glory,  throned  afar, 

A  human  form  yet  all  divine; 
Beyond  the  track  of  sun  or  star, 

High  o'er  all  height  it  seem'd  to  shine. 

'Twas  He  who  in  the  furnace  walk'd 

With  Shadrach,  and  controll'd  its  power; 

'T  was  He  with  whom  Elias  talk'd, 
In  his  transfiguration-hour. 

'Twas  He  whom,  in  the  lonely  Isle 

Of  Patmos,  John  in  spirit  saw, 
And,  at  the  lightning  of  his  smile, 

Fell  down  as  dead,  entranced  with  awe. 

From  his  resplendent  diadem, 

A  ray  shot  through  mine  inmost  soul; 

"Could  I  but  touch  his  garment's  hem," 

Methought,  "like  her  whom  faith  made  whole!" 

Faith,  faith  was  given ;— though  nigh  and  nigher, 
Swift  verging  tow'rds  the  gulf  below, 


NARRATIVES. 


267 


I  streteh'd  my  band  ;  — but  bigb  and  higber, 
Ab  me  !  the  vision  seein'd  to  go. 

"Save,  Lord,  I  perisb  !  " — wbile  I  cried, 

Some  miracle  of  mercy  drew 
My  spirit  upward;  —  bell  yawn'd  wide, 

And  follow'd ;  —  upwards  still  I  flew  :  — 

And  upwards  still  the  surging  flame 
Pursued ;  —  yet  all  was  clear  above, 

Whence  brighter,  sweeter,  kindlier  came 
My  blessed  Saviour's  looks  of  love. 

Till  with  a  sadden  flash  forth  beam'd 

The  fulness  of  the  Deity  :  — 
Hell's  jaws  collapsed;  I  felt  redeem'd . 

The  snare  was  broken,  I  was  free. 

A  voice  from  heaven  proclaim'd, — "  Tis  done  ! ' 
Then,  like  a  homeward  ray  of  light 

From  the  last  planet  to  the  sun, 

I  darted  through  the  abyss  of  night. 

Till  He  put  forth  his  hand,  to  meet 

Mine,  grasping  at  infinity  ; 
He  caught  me,  set  me  on  my  feet ; 

I  fell  at  bis  in  ecstasy. 

What  follow'd,  human  tongue  in  vain 
Would  question  language  to  disclose; 

Enough,  — that  I  was  born  again  ; 
From  death  to  life  that  hour  I  rose. 

Part  III. 

RESTITUTION. 

I  built  once  more,  but  on  a  rock 

(Faith's  strong  foundation,  firm  and  sure) 

Fix'd  mine  abode,  the  heaviest  shock 
Of  time  and  tempest  to  endure. 

Not  small,  nor  large,  not  low,  nor  high, 
Midway  it  stands  upon  the  steep, 

Beneath  the  storm-mark  of  the  sky, 
Above  the  flood-mark  of  the  deep. 

And  here  I  humbly  wait  while  He, 
Who  pluck'd  me  from  the  lowest  hell, 

Prepares  a  heavenly  house  for  me, 

Then  calls  me  home  with  Him  to  dwell. 


THE  CHRONICLE  OF  ANGELS. 

The  following  Poem  having  been  suggested  by  the  perusal 
of  a  manuscript  treatise  on  ••  The  Holy  Angels,"  by  the 
Author's  late  highly  esteemed  friend,  R.  C.  lirackenhury, 
of  Raithby,  is  most  respectfully  inscribed  to  Mrs.  Brack- 
enbury. 

Part  I. 

All  that  of  angels  Gon  to  man  makes  known, 
Here  by  the  light  of  bis  clear  word  is  shown. 
'Tis  Jacob's  dream  ;  — behold  the  ladder  rise, 
Resting  on  earth,  but  reaching  to  the  skies, 
Where  faith  the  radiant  hierarchies  may  trace 
Abroad  in  nature,  providence,  and  grace, 
Descending  and  returning  by  that  path, 
On  embassies  of  mercy  or  of  wrath ; 
Here  the  stone  pillow  and  the  desert-sod 
Become  the  gate  of  heaven,  the  house  of  Gon  ; 

—  Put  off  thy  shoes,  approach  with  awe  profound, 
The  place  on  which  thou  stand'st  is  holy  ground. 

Spirit  made  perfect,  spirit  of  the  just  ! 
Thy  hand  that  traced  these  leaves  is  fall'n  to  dust, 
Yet,  in  the  visions  of  eternity, 
Things  unconceiv'd  by  mortals  thou  canst  see, 

—  Angels  as  angels  stand  before  the  throne, 
By  thee  are  without  veil  or  symbol  known  : 

Oh  !  couldst  thou  add  one  brilliant  page,  and  tell 
What  those  pure  beings  are  who  never  fell, 

—  Those  first-born  sons  of  Gon,  ere  time  began, 
Though  elder,  greater,  not  more  loved  than  man, 
Thrones,  principalities,  dominions,  powers, 
Cherub  or  seraph,  midst  empyreal  bowers, 

Who  in  themselves  their  Maker  only  see, 
And  live,  and  move,  and  dwell  in  Deity; 

—  But  'tis  forbidden  ;  —  earthly  eye  nor  ear 
Heaven's  splendours  may  behold,  heaven's  secrets 

hear  ; 
To  flesh  and  blood  that  world  to  come  is  seal'd, 
Or  but  in  hieroglyphic  shades  reveal'd. 

We  follow  thee,  bless'd  saint !  our  tongues,  ere 
long, 
May  learn  from  thine  the  church  triumphant's  song  ; 
For  well,  I  ween,  thy  minstrel  soul  of  fire 
Can  compass  all  the  notes  of  Raphael's  lyre; 

—  That  soul,  which  once,  beneath  the  body's  cloud, 
Sang  like  an  unseen  sky-lark,  sweet  and  loud  ; 
Louder  and  sweeter  now  thy  raptures  rise, 
Where  cloud  nor  sun  are  seen  in  purer  skies, 


26S 


NARRATIVES. 


But  what  of  angels  know  we  ? — search  that  book 
On  which  the  eyes  of  angels  love  to  look, 
Desiring,  through  its  opening  seals,  to  trace 
The  heights  and  depths  of  that  transeendant  grace, 
■Which  from  that  Father's  bosom  sent  the  Son, 
Himself  the  ransom  for  a  world  undone. 

First,  with  the  morning  stars  when  nature  sprang, 
These  sons  of  God  for  joy  together  sang; 
Diviner  wonders  day  by  day  explored, 
Night  after  night  with  deeper  awe  adored; 
Till,  o'er  his  finish'd  work,  Jehovah  placed 
Man,  with  the  stamp  of  His  own  image  graced; 
Even  angels  paused  a  moment  then  to  gaze, 
Ere  burst  from  all  their  choirs  such  shouts  of  praise, 
As  not  in  heaven  at  their  own  birth  were  known, 
Nor  heard  when  Satan's  host  were  overthrown. 

When  man  lost  Eden  for  his  first  offence, 
The  swords  of  cherubim  expell'd  him  thence, 
Those  flaming  signs  of  heaven  with  earth  at  strife 
Turn'd  every  way  to  guard  the  tree  of  life. 

Angels,  thenceforth,  who  in  God's  presence  stand. 
As  ministering  spirits,  travel  sea  and  land; 
Onward  or  upward,  rapt  through  air  and  sky, 
From  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven  they  fly  ; 
Like  rays  diverging  from  the  central  sun, 
Which  through  the  darkness  of  creation  run, 
Enlightening  moons  and  planets  in  their  course, 
And  thence  reflected  seek  their  glorious  source. 

Part  II. 

When  Abraham  dwelt  in  Mamre,  angels  spoke, 
As  friend  to  friend,  with  him  beneath  the  oak  : 
With  flocks  and  herds,with  wealth  and  servants  blest, 
Of  almost  more  than  heart  could  wish  possest, 
One  want  the  old  man  felt,  —  an  hopeless  one  ! 
Oh  !  what  was  all  he  had  without  a  son  ? 
Heaven's  messengers  brought  tidings  to  his  ear, 
Which  nature,  dead  in  him,  found  hard  to  hear; 
Which  faith  itself  could  scarce  receive  for  joy, 
But  he  believed, —  and  soon  embraced  a  boy  ; 
Nor,  while  the  line  of  Adam  shall  extend, 
Will  faithful  Abraham's  promised  issue  end. 

Hence,  when  his  lifted  arm  the  death-stroke  aim'd 
At  him  whom  God  mysteriously  reclaim'd, 


At  him,  whom  God  miraculously  gave, 
An  angel  cried  from  heaven  the  youth  to  save, 
And  he  who  found  a  son  when  he  believed, 
That  son  again  as  from  the  dead  received. 

When  Hagar,  woe-begone  and  desolate, 
Alone,  beside  the  desert-fountain  sate, 
And  o'er  her  unborn  babe  shed  bitter  tears, 
The  angel  o:  the  Lord  allay'd  her  fears, 
And  pledged  in  fee  to  her  unportion'd  child 
The  lion's  range  o'er  Araby  the  wild : 
"  Here  have  I  look'd  for  Him  whom  none  can  sec  !" 
She  cried ; — "  and  found,  for  thou,  God,  seest  me  !" 
—  Again,  when  fainting  in  the  wilderness, 
An  angel-watcher  pitied  her  distress, 
To  Ishmael's  lips  a  hidden  well  unseal'd, 
And  the  long  wanderings  of  his  race  reveal'd, 
Who  still,  as  hunters,  warriors,  spoilers,  roam, 
Their  steeds  their  riches,  sands  and  sky  their  home. 

Angels  o'erthrew  the  cities  of  the  plain, 
With  fire  and  brimstone  in  tempestuous  rain, 
And  from  the  wrath  which  heartless  sinners  braved, 
Lot,  with  the  violence  of  mercy,  saved ; 
Now  where  the  region  breathed  with  life  before, 
Stands  a  dead  sea  where  life  can  breathe  no  more. 

■When  Jacob,  journeying  with  his  feeble  bands, 
Trembled  to  fall  into  a  brother's  hands ; 
At  twilight,  lingering  in  the  rear  he  saw 
God's  host  around  his  tents  their 'campment  draw: 
—  While,  with  a  stranger,  in  mysterious  strife, 
Wrestling  till  break  of  day  for  more  than  life : 
He  pray'd,  he  wept,  he  cried  in  his  distress, 
"  I  will  not  let  thee  go  except  thou  bless  !  " 
Lame  with  a  touch,  he  halted  on  his  thigh, 
Yet  like  a  prince  had  power  with  God  Most  High. 

Nine  plagues  in  vain  had  smitten  Pharaoh's  land 
Ere  the  destroying  angel  stretch'd  his  hand, 
Whose   sword,   wide    flashing   through    Egyptian 

gloom, 
Lighted  and  struck  their  first-born  to  the  tomb; 
Through  all  the  realm  a  cry  at  midnight  spread,     J 
For  not  a  house  was  found  without  one  dead. 

When  Balaam,  blinded  by  the  lure  of  gold 
To  curse  whom  God  would  bless,  his  heart  had  sold, 
A  wrathful  angel,  with  high-brandish'd  blade, 
Invisible  to  him,  his  progress  stay'd. 


NARRATIVES. 


269 


Nor,  till  with  human  voice  his  own  dumb  ass 
Rebuked  the  prophet's  madness,  let  him  pass. 

When  Joshua  led  the  tribes  o'er  Jordan's  flood, 
The  captain  of  God's  host  before  him  stood, 
He  fell,  and  own'd,  adoring  on  his  face, 
A  Power  whose  presence  sanctified  the  place. 

When  Deborah  from  beneath  her  palm-tree  rose, 
God  into  woman's  hands  sold  Israel's  foes  ; 
They  fought  from  heaven, — 'twas  heaven  deliver- 
ance wrought, 
Stars  in  their  courses  against  Sisera  fought. 

They  sinn'd  again,  and  fell  beneath  the  yoke; 
To  Gideon  then  their  guardian  angel  spoke : 
Three  hundred  warriors  chosen  at  the  brook, 
Pitchers  for  arms,  with  lamps  and  trumpets,  took  ; 
They  brake  the  vessels,  raised  the  lights,  and  blew 
A  blast  which  Midian's  startled  hosts  o'erthrew; 
Foe  fell  on  foe,  and  friend  his  friend  assail'd ; 
The  sword  of  God  and  Gideon  thus  prevail'd. 

When  David's  heart  was  lifted  up  with  pride, 
And  more  on  multitudes  than  God  relied, 
Three  days,  an  angel  arm'd  with  pestilence 
Smote  down  the  people  for  the  king's  offence: 
Yet  when  his  humble  soul  for  Israel  pray'd, 
Heaven  heard  his   groaning,  and   the   plague  was 

stay'd ; 
ne  kneel'd  between  the  living  and  the  dead, 
Even  as  the  sword  came  down  o'er  Zion's  head; 
Then  went  the'  Almighty's  voice  throughout  the 

land, 
"It  is  enough;  avenger!  rest  thine  hand." 

Elijah,  with  his  mantle,  smote  the  flood, 
And  Jordan's  hastening  waves  divided  stood; 
The  fiery  chariot,  on  the  further  shore, 
Deathless  to  heaven  the'  ascending  prophet  bore  : 
"My  father!"  cried  Elisha,  as  he  flew; 
"  Lo  !  Israel's  chariot  and  his  horsemen  too:" 
Then  with  the  mantle,  as  it  dropp'd  behind, 
Came  down  a  power,  like  mighty  rushing  wind, 
And  as  he  wrapt  the  trophy  round  his  breast, 
Elijah's  spirit  Elisha's  soul  possess'd. 
—  He,  when  the  Syrian  bands,  as  with  a  net 
Of  living  links,  close  drawn,  his  home  beset, 
Pray'd, —  and  his  trembling  servant  saw  amazed, 
How  Dothan's  mountain  round  the  prophet  blazed ; 


Chariots  of  fire  and  horses  throng'd  the  air, 
And  more  were  for  them  than  against  them  there. 

When  pale  Jerusalem  heard  Sennacherib's  boast, 
How,  in  their  march  of  death,  his  locust  host 
Swept  field  and  forest,  rivers  turn'd  aside, 
Crush'd  idols,  and  the  living  God  defied, 
■ — While  fear  within  the  walls  sad  vigils  kept, 
And  the  proud  foe  without  securely  slept, 
At  midnight,  through  the  camp,  as  with  a  blast 
Hot  from  Arabian  sands,  an  angel  pass'd ; 
And  when  the  city  rose  at  dawn  of  day,  » 

An  army  of  dead  men  around  it  lay  ! 

Down  in  the  raging  furnace,  bound  they  fell, 
Three  Hebrew  youths, —  when,  lo  !  a  miracle  ; 
At  large  amidst  the  sevenfold  flames  they  walk'd, 
And,  as  in  Eden,  with  an  angel  talk'd : 
Up  rose  the  king  astonished  and  in  haste: 
"Three  men,"  he  cried,  "into  the  flames  we  cast; 
Four  I  behold, —  and  in  the  fourth  the  mien 
And  semblance  of  the  Son  of  God  are  seen." 

While  Daniel  lay  beneath  the  lions'  paws, 
An  angel  shut  the  death-gates  of  their  jaws, 
Which,  ere  his  headlong  foes  had  reach'd  the  floor, 
Crush'd  all  their  bones,  and  revell'd  in  their  gore. 

Angels  to  prophets  things  to  come  reveal'd, 
And  things  yet  unfulfill'd  in  symbols  seal'd, 
When  in  deep  visions  of  the  night  they  lay, 
And  hail'd  the  dawn  of  that  millennial  day 
For  which  the  Church  looks  out  with  earnest  eye, 
And  counts  the  moments  as  the  hour  draws  nigh. 

Thus  angels  oft  to  man's  rebellious  race 
Were  ministers  of  vengeance  or  of  grace  ; 
And,  in  the  fulness  of  the  time  decreed, 
Glad  heralds  of  the  woman's  promised  seed. 


Part  III. 

To  Zacharias,  with  his  spouse  grown  old, 
John  the  forerunner's  course  an  angel  told; 
Struck  dumb  for  unbelief,  the  father's  tongue 
At  the  babe's  birth  for  joy  brake  loose  and  sung 

To  Mary,  highly  favour'd,  Gabriel  brought 
An  embassy  of  love  transcending  thought ; 


270 


NARRATIVES. 


With  fear  and  meekness,  hearkening  to  his  word, 
"Behold,"  said  she,  "the  handmaid  of  the  Lord." 

When  Christ  was  born,  that  messenger  once  more 
Good  tidings  to  the  Bethlehem  shepherds  bore  ; 
When  suddenly  with  him  the'  angelic  throngs 
Turn'd  night  to  morning,  earth  to  heaven,  with  songs. 

When  Herod  sought  the  young  child's  life,— by 
night, 
An  angel  warn'd  his  foster-sire  to  flight ; 
But  when  the  murderer's  race  of  blood  was  run, 
Jehovah  out  of  Egypt  call'd  his  Son. 

When  by  the  Spirit  to  the  desert  led, 
Our  Saviour  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head; 
With  hunger,  thirst,  fatigue,  and  watching  worn, 
When  he  the  tempter's  dire  assaults  had  borne, 
Still  with  the  written  word  his  wiles  repell'd, 
Though  long  in  that  mysterious  conflict  held, 
Till   the  foil'd  fiend   at  length   shrunk   back  with 

shame, 
—  Angels  to  minister  unto  him  came. 

In  lone  Gethsemane's  most  dolorous  shade, 
When  in  such  agony  of  soul  he  pray'd, 
That  like  great  blood-drops  falling  to  the  ground 
Burst  the  dark  sweat  from  every  pore  around, 
An  angel, —  from  twelve  legions  marshall'd  nigb, 
Who  waited  but  the  signal  of  his  eye, — 
Cast  o'er  the  Son  of  God  his  shadowing  wing, 
To  strengthen  him  whom  angels  call  their  King. 

Round  the  seal'd  sepulchre  where  Jesus  slept, 
Angels  their  watch  till  the  third  morning  kept  ; 
They  hail'd  the  earthquake,  they  beheld  him  rise, 
Death's  victim,  now  death's  victor,  to  the  skies. 

While  woman's  faithful  love  the  tomb  survey'd 
In  which  her  hands  his  lifeless  limbs  had  laid  ; 
With  lightning  looks,  and  raiment  snowy-white, 
At  whom  as  dead  the  guards  fell  down  in  fright, 
A  mighty  angel  — he  who  roll'd  the  stone 
From  the  cave's  mouth  —  the  Lord's  uprise  made 
known. 

Angels,  to  his  disciples,  while  they  saw 
Their  glorious  Master  in  a  cloud  withdraw, 
Ascend  and  vanish  through  the'  expanding  skies, 
And  followed  him  with  failing  hearts  and  eyes, 


Foretold  his  second  advent,  in  that  day 

When  heaven  and  earth  themselves  shall  pass  away. 

Angels  unseen,  as  ministering  spirits  went, 
When  forth  the  chosen  witnesses  were  sent, 
With   power  from  high    to   preach,  where'er   they 

trod, 
The  glorious  Gospel  of  the  blessed  God. 
Angels  made  straight  their  paths  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Threw  wide  their  prison  doors,  and  let  them  free, 
Smote  slaughter-breathing  Herod  on  his  throne, 
Led  Philip  where  the  Eunuch  sat  alone, 
Taught  meek  Cornelius  from  what  lips  his  ear 
Might  "words  whereby  he  must  be  saved"  hear, 
And  stood  by  fearless  Paul,  when,  tempest-driven, 
The  whole  ship's  company  to  him  were  given. 

Good  angels  still  conduct,  from  age  to  age, 
Salvation's  heirs,  on  nature's  pilgrimage ; 
Cherubic  swords,  no  longer  signs  of  strife, 
Now  point  the  way,  and  keep  the  tree  of  life; 
Seraphic  hands,  with  coals  of  living  fire, 
The  lips  of  God's  true  messengers  inspire ; 
Angels,  who  see  their  heavenly  Father's  face, 
Watch  o'er  his  little  ones  with  special  grace; 
Still  o'er  repenting  sinners  they  rejoice, 
And  blend  their  myriad  voices  as  one  voice. 

Angels,  with  healing  virtue  in  their  wings, 
Trouble  dead  pools,  unsluice  earth's  bosom-springs, 
Till  fresh  as  new-born  life  the  waters  roll  ; 
Lepers  and  lame  step  in  and  arc  made  whole. 

Angels,  the  saints  from  noon-day  perils  keep, 
And   pitch   their   tents   around    them   while   they 

sleep; 
Uphold  them  when  they  seem  to  walk  alone, 
Nor  let  them  dash  their  foot  against  a  stone; 
They  teach  the  dumb  to  speak,  the  blind  to  see, 
Comfort  the  dying  in  their  agony, 
And  to  the  rest  of  paradise  convey 
Spirits  enfranchised  from  the  crumbling  clay. 

Strong  angels,  arm'd  by  righteous  Providence, 
Judgments  on  guilty  nations  still  dispense, 
Pour  out  their  full-charged  vials  of  despair 
And  death,  o'er  sun,  and  sea,  and  earth,  and  air; 
Or  sound  their  trumpets,  while  at  every  blast 
Plague  follows   plague,  woe    treads    on  woe   goco 
past. 


NARRATIVES. 


271 


Bright   angels,  through    mid-heaven    shall    hold 
their  flight 
Till  all  that  sit  in  darkness  see  the  light, 
Still  the  good  tidings  of  great  joy  proclaim 
Till  every  tongue  confess  a  Saviour's  name. 

The'  archangel's  voice,  the  trump  of  God,  the  cry 
Of  startled  nature,  rending  earth  and  sky, 
Shall  change  the  living,  raise  the  dead,  and  bring 
All  nations  to  the  presence  of  their  King, 
Whose  llaming  ministers,  on  either  hand, 
Ten  thousand  times  ten  thousand  angels,  stand, 
To  witness  time's  full  roll  for  ever  seal'd, 
And  that  eternity  to  come  reveal'd, 
—  That  era  in  the  reign  of  Deity, 
When  sin,  the  curse,  and  death,  no  more  can  be. 
Angels  who  fell  not,  men  who  fell  restored, 
Shall  then  rejoice  in  glory  with  the  Lord  ; 
— Hearts,  harps,  and  voices,  in  one  choir  shall  raise 
The  new,  the  old,  the'  eternal  song  of  praise. 

May  ye  who  read,  with  him  who  wrote  this  strain, 
Join  in  that  song,  and  worship  in  that  train  ! 
1829. 


ELIJAH  IN  THE  WILDERNESS. 

1  Kings,  xix. 

Thus  pray'd  the  prophet  in  the  wilderness  : 
"God  of  my  fathers!  look  on  my  distress; 
My  days  are  spent  in  vanity  and  strife, 
0  that  the  Lord  would  please  to  take  my  life  ! 
Beneath  the  clods  through  this  lone  valley  spread, 
Fain  would  I  join  the  generations  dead  ! " 

Heav'n  deign'd   no    answer   to   that  murmuring 
prayer, 
Silence  that  thrill'd  the  blood  alone  was  there  ; 
Down  sunk  his  weary  limbs,  slow  heaved  his  breath, 
And  sleep  fell  on  him  with  a  weight  like  death; 
Dreams,  raised  by  evil  spirits,  hover'd  near, 
ThrongM  with  strange  thoughts,  and  images  of  fear  ; 
The'  abominations  of  the  Gentiles  came  ;  — 
Detested  Chemosh,  Moloch  clad  with  flame, 
Ashtaroth,  queen  of  heaven,  with  moony  crest, 
And  Baal,  sun-like,  high  above  the  rest, 
Glared  on  him,  gnash'd  their  teeth,  then  sped  away, 
Like  ravening  vultures  to  their  carrion-prey, 


Where  every  grove  grew  darker  with  their  rites, 
And  blood  ran  reeking  down  the  mountain-heights; 
But  to  the  living  God,  throughout  the  land, 
He  saw  no  altar  blaze,  no  temple  stand; 
Jerusalem  was  dust,  and  Zion's  hill, 
Like  Tophet's  valley,  desolate  and  still : 
The  prophet  drew  one  deep  desponding  groan, 
And  his  heart  died  within  him,  like  a  stone. 

An  angel's  touch  the  dire  entrancement  broke, 
"  Arise  and  eat,  Elijah  !  "  —  He  awoke, 
And  found  a  table  in  the  desert  spread, 
With  water  in  the  cruise  beside  his  head  ; 
He  bless'd  the  Lord,  who  turn'd  away  his  prayer, 
And  feasted  on  the  heaven-provided  fare  ; 
Then  sweeter  slumber  o'er  his  senses  stole, 
And  sunk  like  life  new-breathed  into  his  soul. 
A  dream  brought  David's  city  on  his  sight, 
—  Shepherds  were  watching   o'er   their   flocks   by 

night; 
Around  them  uncreated  splendour  blazed, 
And  heavenly  hosts  their  hallelujahs  raised ; 
A  theme  unknown  since  sin  to  death  gave  birth, 
"  Glory  to  God  !  good-will  and  peace  on  earth  !  " 
They  sang;  his  heart  responded  to  the  strain, 
Though  memory  sought  to  keep  the  words  in  vain  : 
The  vision  changed  ;  —  amid  the  gloom  serene 
One  star  above  all  other  stars  was  seen  ; 
It  had  a  light,  a  motion,  of  its  own, 
And  o'er  a  humble  shed  in  Bethlehem  shone ; 
He  look'd,  and  lo  !  an  infant  newly  born, 
That  seem'd  cast  out  to  poverty  and  scorn, 
Yet  Gentile  kings  its  advent  came  to  greet, 
Worshipp'd,  and  laid  their  treasures  at  its  feet. 
Musing  what  this  mysterious  babe  might  be, 
He  saw  a  sufferer  streteh'd  upon  a  tree : 
Yet  while  the  victim  died,  by  men  abhorr'd, 
Creation's  agonies  confess'd  him  Lord. 
Again  the  angel  smote  the  slumberer's  side ; 
"  Arise  and  eat,  the  way  is  long  and  wide." 
He  rose  and  ate,  and,  with  unfaiuting  force, 
Through  forty  days  and  nights  upheld  his  course. 
Horeb,  the  mount  of  God,  he  reach'd,  and  lay 
Within  a  cavern  till  the  cool  of  day. 
"  What  dost  thou  here,  Elijah  ?"  —  Like  the  tide, 
Brake  that  deep  voice  through  silence.     He  replied, 
"  I  have  been  very  jealous  for  thy  cause, 
Lord  God  of  hosts  !  for  men  make  void  thy  laws , 
Thy  people  have  thrown  down  thine  altars,  slain 
Thy  prophets,  —  I,  and  I  alone,  remain  ; 


272 


N  A  R  R  A  T  I  V  E  S . 


My  life  with  reckless  vengeance  they  pursue, 
And  what  can  I  against  a  nation  do  ?  " 

"  Stand  on  the  mount  before  the  Lord,  and  know, 
That  wrath  or  mercy  at  my  will  I  show." 
Anon  the  power  that  holds  the  winds  let  fly 
Their  devastating  armies  through  the  sky ; 
Then  shook  the  wilderness,  the  rocks  were  rent, 
As  when  Jehovah  bow'd  the  firmament, 
And  trembling  Israel,  while  he  gave  the  law, 
Beheld  his  symbols,  but  no  image  saw. 
The  storm  retired,  nor  left  a  trace  behind  ; 
The  Loud  pass'd  by;  He  came  not  with  the  wind. 

Beneath  the  prophet's  feet,  the  shuddering  ground 
Clave,  and  disclosed  a  precipice  profound, 
Like  that  which  open'd  to  the  gates  of  hell 
When  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram  fell : 
Again  the  Lord  pass'd  by,  but  unreveal'd; 
He  came  not  with  the  earthquake,  all  was  scal'd. 

A  new  amazement !  vale  and  mountain  turn'd 
Red  as  the  battle-field  with  blood,  then  burn'd 
Up  to  the  stars,  as  terrible  a  flame 
As  shall  devour  this  universal  frame ; 
Elijah  watch'd  it  kindle,  spread,  expire ; 
The  Lord  pass'd  by ;  He  came  not  with  the  fire. 

A  still  small  whisper  breathed  upon  his  ear; 
He  wrapp'd  his  mantle  round  his  face  with  fear; 
Darkness  that  might  be  felt  involved  him,  —  dumb 
'With  expectation  of  a  voice  to  come, 
He  stood  upon  the  threshold  of  the  cave, 
As  one  long  dead,  just  risen  from  the  grave, 
In  the  last  judgment. —  Came  the  voice  and  cried, 
"  What  dost  thou  here,  Elijah  ?" —  He  replied, 
"  I  have  been  very  jealous  for  thy  cause, 
Lord  God  of  hosts !  for  men  make  void  thy  laws ; 
Thy  people  have  thrown  down  thy  altars,  shun 
Thy  prophets,  —  I,  and  I  alone,  remain  ; 
My  life  with  ruthless  violence  they  pursue, 
And  what  can  I  against  a  nation  do?" 

"  My  day  of  vengeance  is  at  hand :  the  year 
Of  my  redeem'd  shall  suddenly  appear : 
Go  thou,  —  anoint  two  kings,  —  and  in  thy  place 
A  prophet  to  stand  up  before  my  face  ; 
Then  he  who  'scapes  the  Syrian's  sword  shall  fall 
By  his  whom  to  Samaria's  throne  I  call; 


And  he  who  'scapes  from  Jehu,  in  that  day, 
Him  shall  the  judgment  of  Elisha  slay. 
Yet  hath  a  remnant  been  preserved  by  me, 
Seven  thousand  souls,  who  never  bow'd  the  knee 
To  Baal's  image,  nor  have  kiss'd  bis  shrine; 
These  are  my  jewels,  and  they  shall  be  mine 
AVhen  to  the  world  my  righteousness  is  shown, 
And,  root  and  branch,  idolatry  o'erthrown." 

So  be  it,  God  of  truth,  yet  why  delay? 
With  thee  a  thousand  years  are  as  one  day; 
0  crown  thy  people's  hopes,  dispel  their  fears, 
And  be  to-day  with  Thee  a  thousand  years ! 
Cut  short  the  evil,  bring  the  blessed  time, 
Avenge  thine  own  elect  from  clime  to  clime; 
Let  not  an  idol  in  thy  path  be  spared ; 
All  share  the  fate  which  Baal  long  hath  shared; 
Nor  let  seven  thousand  only  worship  Thee; 
Make  every  tongue  confess,  bow  every  knee  ; 
Now  o'er  the  promised  kingdoms  reign  thy  Son, 
One  Lord  through  all  the  earth, — his  name  be  one  t 
Hast  Thou  not  spoken  ?  shall  it  not  be  done? 
1821. 


MORNA. 

Macpherson's  Ossian  has  had  many  admirers ;  and  it  can- 
not be  denied,  that  the  compositions  attributed  to  the 
son  of  Fingal  abouud  with  striking  imagery,  heroic  senti- 
ment, and  hardy  expression,  the  effect  of  which,  on 
young  minds  especially,  may  K'  highly  exhilarating  for 
awhile.  But,  independent  of  the  obscurity,  sameness, 
and  repetition,  which  were  probably  characteristic  of  the 
originals — whatever  those  originals  may  have  been — the 
translation  is  "  done  into  English"  in  such  a  "  Baby- 
lonish dialect,"  that  it  might  he  presumed,  no  car  accus- 
tomed to  the  melody  of  pure  prose,  or  the  freedom  of 
eloquent  verse,  could  endure  the  incongruities  of  a  stylo 
in  which  broken  verse  of  various  measures,  and  halt- 
ing prose  of  almost  unmanageable  cadences,  compound 
sentences  as  difficult  to  read  and  as  dissonant  to  hear  as 
a  strain  of  music  would  be  in  execution  and  effect  if 
every  bar  were  set  to  a  different  time  and  in  a  different 
key.  If  for  such  wild  works  of  imagination  a  correspond- 
ing diction  be  desirable,  a  style  between  prose  and  verse, 
not  a  heterogeneous  jumbling  of  both,  might  perhaps  be 
invented.  For  this  we  must  have  a  poetical  foundation 
with  a  prose  superstructure;  the  former,  that  the  vehicle 
of  thought  may  admit  of  florid  embellishment ;  the 
latter,  that  full  licence  may  be  obtained  of  accommodating, 
by  expansion  or  contraction,  the  scope  of  the  idea% 
unencumbered  with  rhyme,  and  unrestricted  by  infran- 
gible metrical  trammels. 


NARRATIVES. 


273 


The  episode  of  Morna  is,  perhaps,  the  most  truly  beautiful 
and  pathetic,  as  well  as  simple  and  intelligible,  narrative 
among  these  rhapsodical  productions.  In  the  following 
experiment,  which  is  submitted  to  the  curious,  the  ana- 
pSBstio  foot  is  adopted  as  the  ground-work,  because  ca- 
dences of  that  measure  have  peculiar  fluency.  There  is 
some  difficulty,  indeed,  to  the  reader,  in  hitting  the  right 
accents  at  all  times,  from  the  great  laxity  of  our  language 
in  that  respect,  and  the  carelessness  of  writers;  yet  as 
this  movement  admits  of  the  utmost  variety  of  subdivi- 
sions, and  the  lines  may  be  lengthened  or  shortened, 
according  to  the  burden  of  the  matter  of  each,  it  is  well 
suited  to  a  mode  of  composition  which  would  blend  the 
harmony  of  song  with  the  freedom  of  discourse,  if  such 
union  were  compatible.  This,  to  some  extent,  has  been 
proved  practicable  in  many  passages  of  several  English 
translations  of  the  i'salins  and  the  Prophecies;  of  which 
a  very  perfect  specimen  may  be  found  in  the  first  seven 
verses  of  the  ninety-fifth  Psalm,  according  to  toe  Common 
Prayer-book  rendering.  When  read  with  simplicity,  and 
the  due  accent  laid  upon  the  long  syllables,  nothing  per- 
haps in  human  speech  can  be  quoted  more  delicately 
implicated  than  the  clauses,  or  more  melodious  than  the 
sequence  of  plain  Saxon  sounds  that  compose  the  diction, 
while  the  variety  of  cadence  and  the  change  of  the  eesura 
in  every  turn  of  the  thought  is  not  less  admirable.  The 
strain  passes  into  entirely  another  key  from  the  eighth 
Terse  inclusive  to  the  end,  the  theme  in  fact  suggesting  a 
correspondent  change  to  the  minstrel's  hand,  when  he 
drops  the  hortatory  preamble,  and  proceeds  to  the  histo- 
rical argument,  or,  rather,  when  he  gives  way  abruptly 
at  the  sound  of  the  very  voice  to  which  he  is  calling  upon 
his  hearers  to  hearken;  while  Jehovah  himself  from 
between  the  cherubim  (for  the  scene  is  in  the  temple) 
speaks  out,  "  Harden  not  your  hearts,  as  in  the  provo- 
cation ....  when  your  fathers  tempted  Me,  proved 
Me,  and  saw  my  works,"  &c.,  to  the  fearful  close  of  the 
psalm. 
The  following  attempt  to  tame  what  has  been  called  "prose 
run  mad,"  into  what  may  easily  be  designated  by  a  phrase 
not  less  opprobrious,  is  made  upon  a  principle  more 
strictly  rhythmical  than  the  measured  style  of  our  ver- 
nacular translations  of  Scripture  poetry;  and  in  behalf 
of  it  a  claim  to  be  received  with  indulgence  by  the  ad- 
mirers of  Gaelic  legends  may  be  fairly  preferred,  since 
the  offence,  if  it  be  one,  against  good  taste  is  not  likely 
to  be  imitated,  nor  will  the  original  culprit  soon  be  in- 
duced to  repeat  it,  being  himself  of  opinion,  that  though 
a  few  pages  got  up  in  this  manner  may  not  be  unpleas- 
ing,  a  volume  would  be  intolerable. 
It  may  be  necessary  to  add,  that  this  experiment  on  the 
tale  of  Morna  has  not  been  made  from  Macpherson,  but 
from  a  version  of  Fingal  of  which  a  few  copies  only  were 
printed  at  Edinburgh,  some  years  ago,  for  private  circu- 
lation. Whether  the  work  has  ever  been  further  pub- 
lished, the  present  writer  knows  not;  but  it  appeared  to 
him.  on  the  hasty  perusal  of  a  lent  copy,  preferable  to 
the  old  one. 


THE     ARGUMENT. 

Cathbat  and  Morna  are  lovers.    Duchomar,  the  rival  of 
Cathbat,  having  slain   the   latter   in  the   chase,  meets 


Morna,  tells  her  what  he  has  done,  and  woos  her  for 
himself.  In  the  course  of  the  interview  they  fall  by 
each  other's  hands,  and  die  together.  —  The  story  is  sup- 
posed to  be  related  to  Cuchullin,  general  of  the  tribes 
of  Erin,  who,  at  the  conclusion,  laments  the  premature 
loss  of  the  two  valiant  warriors,  and  the  death  of  the 
maiden. 

Cathbat  fell  by  the  sword  of  Duchomar, 
At  the  oak  of  the  loud-rolling  stream; 
Duchomar  came  to  the  cave  of  the  forest, 
And  spake  to  the  gentle  maid. 

"  Morna !  fairest  of  women  ! 
Beautiful  daughter  of  high-born  Cormac  ! 
Wherefore  alone  in  the  circle  of  stones, 
Alone  at  the  cave  of  the  mountain  ? 
The  old  oak  sounds  in  the  wind, 
That  ruffles  the  distant  lake  ; 
Black  clouds  engirdle  the  gloomy  horizon ; 
But  thou  art  like  snow  on  the  heath; 
Thy  ringlets  resemble  the  light  mist  of  Cromla, 
When  it  winds  round  the  sides  of  the  hill, 
In  the  beams  of  the  evening  sun." 

"Whence  comest  thou,  sternest  of  men?" 
Said  the  maid  of  the  graceful  locks; 
"Evermore  dark  was  thy  brow; 
Now  red  is  thine  eye,  and  ferocious ; 
Doth  Swarain  appear  on  the  sea? 
What  tidings  from  Lochlin?" 

"No  tidings  from  Lochlin,  0  Morna! 
I  come  from  the  mountains; 
I  come  from  the  chase  of  the  fleet-footed  hind ; 
Three  red  deer  have  fallen  by  my  arrows  ; 
One  fell  for  thee,  fair  daughter  of  Cormac  ! 
As  my  soul  do  I  love  thee,  white-handed  maiden  ! 
Queen  of  the  hearts  of  men  !" 

"Duchomar!"  the  maiden  replied, 
"None  of  my  love  is  for  thee  : 
Dark  is  thine  eyebrow,  thy  bosom  is  darker, 
And  hard  as  the  rock  is  thine  heart : 
But  thou,  the  dear  offspring  of  Armin, 
Cathbat!  art  Morna's  love. 
Bright  as  the  sunbeams  thy  beautiful  locks, 
When  the  mist  of  the  valley  is  climbing  the  moun- 
tain :  — 
Saw'st  thou  the  chief,  the  young  hero, 
Cathbat  the  brave,  in  thy  course  on  the  hill? 
The  daughter  of  Cormac  the  mighty 
Tarries  to  welcome  her  love  from  the  field." 


"Long  shall  thou  tarry,  0  Jlorna!" 
Sullenly,  fiercely,  Duchoinar  replied: 
"Long  shalt  thou  tarry,  0  Morna! 
To  welcome  the  rude  son  of  Armin. 
Lo  !  on  this  sharp-edged  sword, 
Red  to  the  hilt  is  the  life-blood  of  Cathbat : 
Slain  is  thine  hero, 
By  me  he  was  slain  : 
His  cairn  will  I  build  upon  Cromla. 
—  Daughter  of  blue-shielded  Cormac  ! 
Turn  on  Duchoinar  thine  eye." 

"Fallen  in  death  is  the  brave  son  of  Armin?" 
The  maiden  exelaim'd  with  the  voice  of  love : 
"Fallen  in  death  on  the  pine-crested  hill? 
The  loveliest  youth  of  the  host! 
Of  heroes  the  first  in  the  chase ! 
The  direst  of  foes  to  the  sea-roving  stranger!  — 
Dark  is  Duchoinar  in  wrath  ; 
Deadly  his  arm  to  me  ; 

Foe  unto  Morna  !  —  but  lend  me  thy  weapon, 
Cathbat  I  loved,  and  I  love  his  blood." 

He  yielded  the  sword  to  her  tears; 
She  plunged  the  red  blade  through  his  side; 
He  fell  by  the  stream  ; 
He   streteh'd   forth    his   hand,  and   his   voice  was 

heard : 
"  Daughter  of  blue-shielded  Cormac  ! 
Thou  hast  cut  off  my  youth  from  renown ; 
Cold  is  the  sword,  the  glory  of  heroes, 
Cold  in  my  bosom,  0  Morna ! 

—  Ah  !  give  me  to  Moina  the  maiden, 

For  I  am  her  dream  in  the  darkness  of  night; 
My  tomb  she  will  build  in  the  midst  of  the  camp, 
That  the  hunter  may  hail  the  bright  mark  of  my 
fame. 

—  But  draw  forth  the  sword  from  my  bosom, 
For  cold  is  the  blade,  0  Morna!" 

Slowly  and  weeping  she  came, 
And  drew  forth  the  sword  from  his  side; 
He  seized  it,  and  struck  the  red  steel  to  her  heart  ; 
She  fell;  — on  the  earth  lay  her  tresses  dishevell'd, 
The  blood  gurgled  fast  from  the  wound, 
And  crimson'd  her  arm  of  snow. 


"  Tell  me  no  more  of  the  maiden  ! 
Cuchullin.  the  war-chief  of  Erin,  replied: 


— "  Peace  to  the  souls  of  the  heroes ! 

Their  prowess  was  great  in  the  conflict  of  swords; 

Let  them  glide  by  my  chariot  in  war ! 

Let  their  spirits  appear  in  the  clouds  o'er  the  valley! 

So  shall  my  breast  be  undaunted  in  danger! 

"Be  thou  like  a  moon-beam,  0  Morna  ! 
When  my  sight  is  beginning  to  fail; 
When  my  soul  is  reposing  in  peace, 
And  the  tumult  of  war  is  no  more." 


"PERILS  BY  THE  HEATHEX." 
2  Corinthians,  xi.  26. 

Lines  in  memory  of  the  Kev.  William  Threlfall.  Wcsleyan 
Missionary,  who,  with  two  native  converts  (Jacob  Links 
and  Johannes  J  agger  i,  set  out  in  June,  1826,  to  tarry  the 
Gospel  into  Great  Xamauua-land,  on  the  western  coast  of 
South  Africa.  The  last  communication  received  from  him 
by  his  brethren  was  the  following  brief  note,  dated  "  Warm 
Baths.  August  6,1825.  Being  rather  unkindly  handled  by 
this  people,  in  their  not  finding  or  not  permitting  us  to 
have  a  guide,  we  returned  hither  yesterday,  after  having 
been  to  the  north  four  days'  journey,  and  losing  one  of 
the  oxen.  I  feel  great  need  of  your  prayers,  and  my  pa- 
tience is  much  tried.  These  people  are  very  unfeeling 
and  deceitful:  but.  thank  GOB,  we  are  all  in  good  health, 
though  we  doubt  of  success.  Our  cattle  are  so  poor  that 
they  cannot.  I  think,  bring  us  home  again:  hut  we  shall 
yet  try  to  get  further;  and  then  it  is  not  unlikely  T  shall 
despatch  Johannes  to  you  to  send  oxen  to  fetch  us  away. 
Do  not  be  uneasy  aliout  us;  we  all  feel  much  comforted 
in  our  souls,  and  the  Lord  give  us  patience.  We  arc 
obliged  to  beg  hard  to  buy  meat.  Peace  be  with  you !  — 
William  Threlfall.'' 

No  further  intelligence  arrived  concerning  the  wanderers 
for  seven  months,  except  unauthorized  rumours  that 
they  had,  in  some  way,  perished  in  the  desert.  In  the 
sequel  it  was  ascertained,  that  Mr.  Threlfall  and  his 
faithful  companions  had  left  the  Warm  Baths  above 
mentioned  about  the  9th  or  10th  of  August,  having 
obtained  a  vagabond  guide  to  the  great  Fish  River. 
This  wretch,  meeting  with  two  others  as  wicked  as  him- 
self, conducted  them  to  a  petty  kraal  of  Bushmen  (the 
outcasts  of  all  the  Caffrc  tribes),  and  there  murdered 
them  in  the  night  after  they  had  lain  down  to  sleep,  for 
the  sake  of  the  few  trifling  articles  which  they  carried 
with  them  for  the  purchase  of  food  by  the  way.  Two  of 
the  assassins  were  long  afterwards  taken  by  some  of 
their  own  wild  countrymen,  and  by  them  delivered  up 
to  the  colonial  authorities.  One  of  these  was  I  lie  arch- 
traitor,  called  Naangaap.  who  with  his  own  hand  hurled 
the  stone  which  caused  the  death  of  the  missionary. 
He  was  tried  at  Clanwilliam,  and  condemned  to  be  shot 
On  their  way  to  the  place  appointed  for  execution,  the 
escort  halted  at  Lily  Fountain,  where  the  relat  i\  es  of  his 
murdered  companion  Jacob  Links  resided.     These  came 


NARRATIVES. 


275 


out  of  their  dwellings  and  spoke  to  the  criminal  upon  his 
awful  situation,  of  which  he  seemed  little  heedful.    Mar- 
tha, Jacobs'  sister,  was  especially  concerned  to  awakeu 
him  to  a  sense  of  his  guilt  and  peril,  saying  to  him. 
with  true  Christian  meekness  and  sympathy,—"  I  am 
indeed  very  sorry  for  you,  though  you  have  killed  my 
brother,  because  you  are  indifferent  about  the  salvation 
of  your  own  sinful  soul."    On  the  30th  of  September 
1S27,  he  was  shot,  according  to  his  sentence,  by  six  men 
of  his  own  tribe,  at  Silver  Fountain,  on  the  border  of  the 
colony,  with  the  entire  concurrence  of  the  chief,  who  had 
come  from  his  distant  residence  to  witness  the  execution. 
Mr.  Threlfall  was  a  young  man  who  had  served  on  several 
missionary  stations  in  South  Africa,  from  the  year  1^21, 
under  great  bodily  affliction  for  the  most  part  of  the  time, 
but  with  unquenchable  fervency  of  spirit,  and  devotion 
to  the  work  of  God  among  the  heathen.    His  two  fellow- 
labourers  and  fellow-sufferers,  Jacob  Links  and  Johannes 
Jagger,  had  voluntary  offered  themselves  to  the  same 
service  and  sacrifice  with  him,  for  the  sake  of  carrying 
the  gospel  of  the  grace  of  God  to  their  benighted  coun- 
trymen in  the  farther  regions  of  Namaqua-land. 

Not  by  the  lion's  paw,  the  serpent's  tooth, 

By  sudden  sun- stroke,  or  by  slow  decay, 
War,  famine,  plague, — meek  messenger  of  truth  !  — 

Wert  thou  arrested  on  thy  pilgrim-way. 
The  sultry  whirlwind  spared  thee  in  its  wrath, 

The  lightning  flash'd  before  thee  and  pass'd  by, 
The  brooding  earthquake  paused  beneath  thy  path, 

The  mountain-torrent  shunn'd  thee,  or  ran  dry. 

Thy  march  was  through  the  savage  wilderness, 
Thine  errand  thither,  like  thy  gracious  Lord's, 

To  seek  and  save  the  lost,  to  heal  and  bless 
Its  blind  and  lame,  diseased  and  dying  hordes. 

How  did  the  love  of  Christ,  that,  like  a  chain, 
Drew    Christ  himself    to   Bethlehem   from   his 
throne, 
And   bound   Him   to   the   cross,  thine  heart  con- 
strain, 
Thy  willing  heart,  to  make  that  true  love  known  ! 


But  not  to  build,  was  thine  appointed  part, 
Temple  where  temple  never  stood  before; 

Yet  was  it  well  the  thought  was  in  thine  heart, 
—  Thou   know'st   it   now, —  thy   Lord    required 
no  more. 

The  wings  of  darkness  round  thy  tent  were  spread, 
The  wild  beasts'  howling  brake  not  thy  repose, 

The  silent  stars  were  watching  over-head, 
Thy  friends  were  nigh  thee,— nigh  thee  were  thy 
foes. 

The  sun  went  down  upon  thine  evening-prayer, 

He  rose  upon  thy  finish'd  sacrifice ; 
The  house  of  God,  the  gate  of  heaven,  was  there; 

Angels  and  fiends  on  thee  had  fix'd  their  eyes. 

At  midnight,  in  a  moment,  open  stood 

The'  eternal  doors  to  give  thy  spirit  room ; 

At  morn  the  earth  had  drunk  thy  guiltless  blood, 
—  But  where  on  earth  may  now  be  found   thy 
tomb? 

At  rest  beneath  the  ever-shifting  sand, 
This  thine  unsculptured  epitaph  remain, 

Till  the  last  trump  shall  summon  sea  and  land, 

"  To  me  to  live  was  Christ;  to  die  was  gain." 

And  must  with  thee  thy  slain  companions  lie, 
Unmourn'd,  unsung,  forgotten  where  they  fell  ? 

0  for  the  spirit  and  power  of  prophecy, 
Their  life,  their  death,  the  fruits  of  both  to  tell ! 

They  took  the  cross,  they  bore  it,  they  lay  down 

Beneath  it,  woke,  and  found  that  cross  their  crown. 

O'er  their  lost  relics,  on  the  spot  where  guilt 
Slew  sleeping  innocence,  and  hid  the  crime, 

A  church  of  Christ,  amidst  the  desert  built, 
May  gather  converts  till  the  end  of  time, 

And  there,  with  them,  their  kindred,  dust  to  dust, 

Await  the  resurrection  of  the  just. 


TRANSLATIONS   FROM   DANTE. 


UGOLINO  AND  RUGGIERI. 

The  sufferings  of  Ugolino  on  earth,  and  his  cannibal  re- 
Tenge  in  hell,  on  big  betrayer  and  murderer.  Ruggieri, 
are  better  known  in  this  country  than  any  other  pari 
of  the  Divina  Commedia,  having  been  often  translated, 
and  several  times  made  the  subject  of  painting,  especially 
in  the  rival  pictures  of  Reynolds  aud  Fuseli.  One  ver- 
sion more  may  be  tolerated,  and  it  will  probably  be  lorn.: 
before  it  can  be  said  that  yet  another  is  not  wanted,  to 
give  the  English  reader  an  adequate  idea  of  the  poet's 
power  in  the  delineation, —  not  so  much  of  the  superna- 
tural horrors  of  his  infernal  caverns,  as  of  a  real  earthly- 
scene  (like  the  death  by  starvation,  in  the  dungeon,  of  a 
father,  and  his  four  innocent  children),  '-so  simple,  so 
severely  great."  that  of  the  narrative,  in  his  own  Italian, 
it  may  be  said 

"  The  force  of  nature  could  no  further  go." 
Ugolino,  Count  of  Sherardesca,  having  united  with  the 
Archbishop  Ruggieri  degli  Dbaldini  to  expel  his  own  ne- 
phew, Xino  Giudice  di  Gallura,  from  the  sovereignty  of 
1'isa,  seized  it  for  himself.  But  the  archbishop  soon  t  urn- 
ed  against  him,  and  being  supported  by  Lanframhi.  ^i5- 
mondi,  and  Gualandi,  three  of  the  principal  inhabitants, 
they  raised  a  tumult  in  the  city,  during  which  Ugolino 
was  dragged  from  his  palace,  and  with  his  two  sons,  and 
their  two  sons  (he  calls  all  four  his  children  in  the  storj  . 
imprisoned  in  a  tower  on  the  Piazza  degli  Anziani.  for 
several  months,  at  the  expiration  of  which  the  portals 
were  all  locked,  and  the  keys  thrown  into  the  river  Arno 
the  miserable  captives  being  thus  left  to  perish  with  hun- 
ger, whence  the  hold  itself  obtained  the  name  of  "  l'.nn- 
M'ith  great  skill  to  produce  the  most  pathetic  im- 
pression,as  well  aswith  consummate  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  Dante  maks  Ugolino  dwell  wholly  on  the  trea- 
chery and  cruelty  exercised  towards  himself,  without  any 
allusion  to  his  own  atrocious  injustice  towards  his  ne- 
phew, for  which  he  is  doomed  to  the  second  round  of  the 
ninth  or  lowest  gulf  of  Hell,  with  no  mitigation  of  the 
pains  of  eternal  hunger,  except  the  ravenous  feast,  like 
that  of  the  eagle  on  the  liver  of  Prometheus,  upon  the 
never-satisfying  and  never-wasting  brain  of  the  traitor 
Ruggieri. 
Dante  (accompanied  by  Tirgil,  his  conductor)  finds  in  this 
department  of  '•  the  doleful  city"  the  victims  tormented 
variously,  according  to  their  crimes, 

"  In  thrilling  regions  of  thick-ribbed  ice ; " 

and.  among  others,  the  two  personages  aforenamed. 

Scarce  had  we  parted  thence,  when  I  beheld 
Two  in  one  well  of  ice,  so  groun'd  together 


I   The  head  of  one  to  the  other  scem'd  the  cowl, 
While,  like  a  hungry  man  devouring  bread, 
The  uppermost  had  fasten'd  with  his  teeth 
Upon  the  lower,  where  skull  and  neck  are  join'd ; 
Xor  more  voraciously  did  Tydeus  tear 
The  front  of  Mcnalippus,  in  his  rage,1 
Than  on  that  head  aud  brain  the'  assailant  prey'd. 

"  0  thou  !  "  I  cried,  "  who  show'st  by  such  brute 
token 
Hatred  to  him  whom  thou  devourest,  say, 
Why  dost  thou  so? — I  ask  on  this  condition, 
That  knowing  who  thou  art,  and  what  his  crime, 
If  thou  have  cause  of  wrong  against  thy  victim, 
I  yet  may  right  thee  in  the  upper  world, 
Should  that  with  which  I  speak  be  not  dried  up." 
Dell'  Inferno,  canto  xxxii. 

The  sinner  paused  amidst  his  dire  repast, 
And  wiped  his  mouth  upon  the  hairy  scalp 
Of  him  whose  head  he  raven'd  on  behind, 
Then  answer'd  :  — 

Thou  wouldst  have  me  to  renew 
Horrible  pangs,  of  which  the  very  thought 
So  wrings  my  heart,  I  scarce  find  power  for  utter- 
ance: 
Yet  if  my  words  prove  seed,  of  which  the  traitor, 
Whom  thus  I  gnaw,  may  reap  the'  accursed  fruit, 
Thou  shalt  behold  uie  weep  and  speak  at  once. 

"I  know  not  who  thou  art,  nor  by  what  means 
Thou  hast  come  hither,  but  a  Florentine, 
By  speech,  I  deem  thee. —  Know  me,  then, 
Count  Ugolino, —  this,  the'  Archbishop  Ruggier, 
And  why  I  'in  such  a  neighbour,  thou  shalt  hear. 
—  I  need  not  say  how,  by  his  foul  devices, 
Reposing  on  his  faith,  I  was  ensnared, 
And  murder'd: — but,  what  cannot  have  been  told 
thee, 

1  Statics,  Thtb.  1.  vii. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


277 


How  cruel  was  that  murder,  thou  shalt  know; 
Then  judge  if  he  have  injured  me  or  not. 

"When  the  small  casement  of  that  dungeon  cage, 
Which  hath  from  me  the  name  of  '  Famine,' — where 
Others  may  yet  be  left  like  me  to  perish, — 
Through  its  dim  aperture,  had  more  than  once 
Shown  the  new  moon,  an  evil  sleep  fell  on  me, 
Which  from  the  future  rent  the  veil. 

—  Methought 
This  wretch,  as  lord  and  master  of  the  field, 
Hunted  a  he-wolf  and  his  whelps  along 
The  mountain  which  from  Pisa  shadows  Lucca. 
With  meagre,  staunch,  and  noble-blooded  hounds, 
Gualandi,  and  Sismondi,  and  Lanfranohi 
Swept  on  before  him. — After  a  short  chase, 
Parent  and  young  fell  fainting  from  fatigue, 
And  with  keen  fangs  I  saw  them  torn  to  pieces. 

"  When  I  awoke  at  day-break, —  in  their  sleep, 
I  heard  my  children  moan  and  ask  for  bread 
(For  they  were  with  me) ;  —  cruel  is  thine  heart 
If  it  grieves  not  for  what  mine  then  foreboded, 
And  if  thou  weep'st  not  now,  what  wilt  thou  weep 

for? 
—  Ere  long  they  woke;  the  hour  drew  nigh  when 

food 
Was  wont  to  be  brought  to  us  ;  but  in  each 
Secret  misgivings  from  his  dream  arose  ; 
And  of  the  horrible  tower  I  heard  the  portal 
Lock'd  underneath  our  cell.     Thereat  I  look'd 
Full  on  my  children,  but  spake  not  a  word, 
Nor  wept,  so  petrified  I  felt  within. 
They  wept,  and  little  Anselm  said  to  me, 
'  You  look  so,  father  !  Ah  !  what  mean  those  looks  ?' 
Still  I  wept  not,  nor  answer'd  all  that  day, 
Nor  the  next  night. 

At  sun-rise  on  the  morrow, 
When  a  faint  ray  gleam'd  through  our  doleful  prison, 
And  in  four  haggard  faces  show'd  me  mine, 
I  worried  both  my  hands  with  agony : 
They,  thinking  that  I  did  so  in  the  rage 
Of  hunger,  all  together  rose  and  cried, 
'  Father  !  't  will  hurt  us  less  if  you  will  feed 
On  us ;  you  clothed  these  limbs  with  suffering  flesh, 
Now  strip  them  ! ' 

Then  I  quieted  myself, 
Not  to  make  them  more  wretched. — All  that  day, 
And  all  the  next,  we  sat  and  held  our  peace; 
Ah!  earth,  hard  earth  !  why  didst  thou  not  then  open  ? 


"  When  we  had  linger'd  on  till  the  fourth  day, 
My  Gaddo  threw  himself  down  at  my  feet, 
Crying,  '  My  father !  why  do  you  not  help  me  ?' 
Then  died. — As  plainly  as  thou  seest  me  now, 
I  saw  the  other  three  fall,  one  by  one, 
Between  the  fifth  day  and  the  sixth.     Then  blind 
I  groped  about  to  fool  and  clasp  their  bodies ; 
Three  days  I  call'd  them  by  their  names,  though 

dead, 
Then  fainiue  did  for  me  what  grief  could  not." 

Dell'  Inferno,  canto  xxxiii. 


MAESTRO  ADAMO. 

The  hideously  comic  interview  and  adventure  with  Maestro 
Adamo  (Master  Adam),  the  coiner,  —  in  another  of  the 
lower  rounds  of  the  infernal  gulf,  where  traitors  of  the 
baser  sort  are  tormented  with  unappeasable  thirst,  in 
various  diseases  that  excite  it, — is  thoroughly  Vantesque, 
but  in  the  poet's  coarser  vein.  It.  may  form  a  singular 
companion-piece  to  the  fearfully  sublime,  but  Bimply  told 
and  tenderly  affecting,  narrative  of  Couut  Ugolino. 

I  saw  one  shapen  like  a  lute,  had  he 
Been  shortcn'd  where  the  man  becomes  a  fork;1 
Enormous  dropsy  (which  had  swoln  his  limbs 
With  stagnant  humours,  till  his  ghastly  cheek 
But  ill  agreed  with  his  unwieldy  paunch,) 
Made  him,  for  thirst,  gasp  like  a  hectic, — one 
Lip  lolling  on  his  chin,  upcurl'd  the  other. 

"  Oh  !  you,"  he  cried,  "  that  without  pain  (though 
why 
I  know  not)  pass  through  this  unhappy  world, 
Hear,  and  mark  well  the  sorrows  of  Adamo ; 
Living,  I  had  whatever  heart  could  wish, 
And  now,  alas  !  I  lack  a  drop  of  water. 
The  murmuring  rivulets  down  the  verdant  hills 
Of  Cassentino,  flowing  into  Arno, 
Which  keep  their  little  channels  moist  and  cool, 
Are  ever  in  mine  eye  ;  —  and  not  in  vain, 
For  their  sweet  images  inflame  my  thirst 
More  than  the  malady  that  shrinks  my  visage. 
The  rigid  justice,  which  torments  me  here, 
Even  from  the  place  where  I  committed  sin, 
Draws  means  to  mock  and  multiply  my  groans ; 
Romena  stands  before  me,  where  I  forged 

i  The  strange  phrase  employed  in  the  original  quaintly 
signifies, 

—  "  if  he  had  been  shortcn'd  from  the  waist." 


278 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


The  lawful  coin  and  Baptist's  seal,  for  which 

I  left  my  wretched  body  in  the  flames.  ' 

—  Yet  could  I  spy  the  woeful  ghost  of  Guido, 

Of  Alessandro,  or  their  brother,  here, 

I  would  not  quit  the  sight  for  Branda's  fountain  ! 

Somewhere  among  these  pits  dwells  one, —  if  truth 

Be  told  by  those  mad  souls  that  roam  at  large, — ■ 

But  what  is  that  to  me  whose  limbs  are  bound  ? 

Oh !  were  I  light  enough  to  move  an  inch 

A  century,  I  had  set  out  ere  now 

In  search  of  him  among  the  hideous  throng, 

Through  all  the  eleven  long  miles  of  this  sad  circle, 

Which  hath  no  less  than  half  a  mile  in  breadth  ! 

They  brought  me  to  this  family  of  fiends  : 

They  tempted  me  to  falsify  the  florin, 

And  mix  it  with  three  carats  of  alloy." 

Then   I   to   him;  —  "And   who   are   these    two 
wretches, 
That  smoke  like  hands  in  winter  plunged  through 

snow, 
Lying  close-fetter'd  on  the  right  of  thee?" 

"  I  found  them  here,  and  they  have  never  stirr'd 
Since  I  was  dropt  into  this  ditch,"  he  answer'd  : 
"  One's  the  false  woman  who  accused  young  Joseph, 
And  t'other  Sinon,  the  false  Greek  at  Troy, 
Who,  in  the  excruciate  pangs  of  putrid  fever, 
Send  up  such  steam." 

That  moment  one  of  them, 
Wroth  to  be  named  so  ignominiously, 
Struck  with  the  fist  on  his  distended  hide, 
That  thunder'd  like  a  drum;  —  but  Master  Adam 
Repaid  the  blow  upon  the  assailant's  face, 
Not  less  afflictive,  with  his  arm ;  exclaiming, 
"  Though  reft  of  locomotion,  being  so  large, 
I  have  a  hand  at  liberty  for  that." 

To  whom  the  other: — "Thou  wert  not  so  prompt 
When  thou  wast  going  to  the  stake ;  and  yet 
More  prompt  than  now  when  thou  didst  stamp  the 
coin." 

"Thou  speak'st  the  truth,"  the  dropsical  replied, 
"  But  didst  not  so  at  Troy,  when  truth  was  ask'd 
thee." 


1  This  miserable  culprit  had  been  a  metallurgist  of 
Brescia,  who,  at  the  instance  of  Guido,  Alessandro,  ami 
Aginulpho,  three  nobles  of  Romena,  counterfeited  the  gold 


"False    words    I    utter'd    then,    as    thou    false 
money  ; 
If  for  one  crime  I  suffer,  thou  art  damn'd 
For  more  than  any  demon  here,"  quoth  SIdod. 

"  Remember  !  perjured  one,  the  hollow  horse, 
With  its  full  belly,"  Adam  cried,  "  and  stand 
Guilty  through  all  the   world." 

"  Stand  guilty  thou  !  " 
The  Greek  retorted  ;  "witness  that  huge  round, 
That  quagmire,  which  ingulfs  thee  in  thyself." 

The  coiner  then  :  —  "  Thy  mouth  for  evil-speak- 
ing 
Is  quite  as  open  as  it  wont  to  be ; 
If  I  have  drought  while  humours  swell  me  up, 
Thou  hast  a  burning  heart  and  aching  head, 
And  wouldst  not  need  much  coaxing  to  the  task 
To  lap  the  mirror  of  Narcissus  dry." 

I  stood  all  fix'd  to  hear  them. — "  Little  more 
Would  make  me  quarrel  with  thee ;  so  be  warn'd," 
Cried    Virgil  :  —  when    I    heard     him     speak     in 

warmth, 
I  turn'd  about,  and  colour'd  with  such  shame, 
The   very   thought   brings    back   the   blush   upon 

me, 
Like  one  who  dreams  of  harm  befalling  him, 
And  dreaming  wishes  it  may  be  a  dream, 
Desiring  that  which  is  as  though  it  were  not, 
So  I,  unable  to  excuse  myself, 
(For  I  stood  mute,)  excused  myself  the  more, 
Unwittingly.  —  "  Less    shame    than    thine   might 

make 
Atonement  for  a  greater  fault  than  thine," 
My  Master  said,  "so  cast  away  tby  sadness  ; 
And  know  that  I  am  ever  at  thy  side; 
If   fortune   brings   thee   where   such   knaves    fall 

out, 
—  To  love  thy  broils  betrays  a  base-born  mind." 

DelV  Inferno,  canto  xxx. 


florin  of  Tuscany,  which  bore  the  impress  of  the  Baptist's 
head.— Branda  is  a  beautiful  fountain  at  Siena. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


279 


DANTE  AND  BEATRICE. 

Ihere  is  no  circumstance  in  the  whole  compass  of  the  Di- 
vinti  iXmmedia  more  exquisitely  imagined  than  the 
tinftlt  swiftness  with  which  Dante  aud  Beatrice,  by  the 
mere  act  of  volition  on  their  part,  are  transported  from 
planet  to  planet  in  the  Paradiso :  nor  is  th 
their  arrival  at  each  new  stage,  in  the  increased  loveliness 
of  the  lady  to  the  eyes  of  the  poet,  less  delicately  conceived. 

I  felt  not  our  ascension  to  that  star, 

But  soon  of  this  my  lady  gave  me  warning, 

For  she  had  grown  more  beautiful. 

Bel  Paradiso,  canto  viii. 

Their  first  flight  from  the  Hill  of  Purgatory  was  to  the 
moon.  Their  entrance  within  the  sphere  of  "  that  eter- 
nal pearl "  is  thus  described. 

The  native-born  and  everlasting  thirst 

For  that  pure  realm,  resembling  God  himself, 

Carried  us  thither,  swift  as  move  the  heavens. 

My  lady  look'd  aloof,  and  I  on  her; 
Then,  in  as  brief  a  space  as,  on  the  string, 
An  arrow  rests,  escapes,  and  flits  away,1 
I  found  myself  transported,  aud  arrived, 
Where  a  strange  thing  surprised  me  :  but  my  guide, 
From  whom  nought  in  my  heart  could  be  conceal'd, 
Turn'd  with  a  sweet  and  gracious  countenance, 
Exclaiming,  '-Now,  thank  God  that  we  have  reach'd 
The  nearest  star."2  —  Alethought  a  lucid,  dense, 
And  brilliant  cloud,  like  diamond,  which  the  san 
Transpierces,  compass'd  us  on  every  side: 
Within  the  orb  of  that  eternal  pearl 
We  enter'd, —  as  a  ray  of  light  pervades 
The  crystal  wave,  united  yet  unbroken." 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  ii. 


The  sign  which  spiritual  intelligences  in  heaven  give  of 
their  desire  to  converse  with  the  travellers  that  visit  their 
respeetives  abodes,  by  shining  out  from  among  their  com- 
panions with  intenser  lustre,  is  of  the  same  happy  char- 
acter of  thought  with  the  idea  of  Beatrice's  beauty 
brightening  as  she  mounts  from  sphere  to  sphere. 

She  ceased,  and  seem'd  to  enter  a  new  round 
Within  the  wheel  where  she  revolved  before;3 

1  The  same  comparison  is  used  on  another  liko  occasion, 
with  a  singular  though  minute  variation:  — 

And  as  an  arrow  hits  the  mark,  before 

The  cord  hath  ceased  to  tremble  on  the  bow. 

Thus  had  we  reach'd  the  second  region. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  v. 


That  other  ardour,  known  to  me  already. 
Now  flash'd  out  marvellously  upon  my  sight, 
Like  a  Jine  ruby  smitten  by  the  sun  ; 
For  joy  in  heaven  brings  splendour,  as  it  brings 
Laughter  on  earth:—  but,  in  the  abyss  of  hell, 
Horror  grows  blacker  as  the  mind  more  sad. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  ix. 


THE  RIVER  OF  LIFE. 

The  greater  part  of  the  Paradiso,—  while  it  exemplifies, 
almost  beyond  example,  the  power  of  human  language  to 
vary  a  few  ideas  and  images  in  themselves  so  simple, 
pure,  and  hallowed,  that  they  can  hardly  be  altered  from 
their  established  associations  without  being  degraded, — 
shows  also  the  utter  impotence  of  any  other  terms  than 
those  which  Scripture  has  employed  ••  as  in  a  glass  dark- 
ly,"—  and  who  can  Otere  add  light  ?  —  to  body  forth  what 
eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  heard,  neither  hath  entered  into 
the  heart  of  man  to  conceive.  One  elaborate  specimen 
(however  defective  the  translation  may  If  i  will  elucidate 
this  failure  even  in  the  noble  original,  which,  like  its  in- 
effable theme,  in  this  part  is  •■  dark  with  excessive  bright." 
The  poet  here  copies  more  directly  than  he  is  wont  from 
the  Sacred  Oracles :  or.  as  in  the  sublime  simile  of  the 
rock,  illustrates  his  subject  with  not  unworthy  natural 
objects;  at  the  same  time,  with  characteristic  ingenuous- 
ness, he  explains  his  owu  feelings  on  beholding  "  things 
which  it  is  not  lawful  for  a  man  to  utter.'' 

As  sudden  lightning  dissipates  the  sL-iit. 

And  leaves  the  eye  unable  to  discern 

The  plainest  objects, —  living  light  so  flash'd 

Around  me,  and  involved  me  in  a  veil 

Of  such  effulgence,  that  I  ceased  to  see. 

"  Thus  Love,  which  soothes  this  heaven,  all  kindly 

fats 
The  torch  to  take  his  flame!"  4 — These  few  brief 

words 
Had  scarcely  reach'd  mine  ear  when  I  perceived 
Power  from  on  high  diffuse  such  virtue  through  me, 
And  so  rekindle  vision,  that  no  flame. 
However  pure,  could  'scape  mine  eyes. 

I  saw 
Light,  like  a  river  clear  as  crystal,  flowing 
Between  two  banks,  with  wondrous  spring  adorn'd; 


2  The  moon. 

3  A  mystic  dan;e,  most  curiously  described  in  the  origi- 
nal, in  which  the  celestials  are  engaged. 

*  Beatrice  addresses  this  remark  to  Dante. 


2S0 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


While  from  the  current  issued  vivid  sparks, 
That  fell  among  the  flowers  on  either  hand, 
Glitter'd  like  rubies  set  in  gold,  and  then, 
As  if  intoxicate  with  sweetest  odours, 
Replunged  themselves  into  the  mystic  flood, 
Whence,  as  one  disappear'd,  another  rose. 

"  The  intense  desire   that  warms   and   stirs  thy 

thoughts 
To  understand  what  thou  beholdest,  yields 
More  joy  to  me,  the  more  it  urges  thee; 
But  ere  such  noble  thirst  can  be  assuaged, 
Behooves  thee  first  to  drink  of  this  clear  fount." 
The   sun   that  lights  mine    ej'es1  thus   spake,  and 

added : 
— "Ton  stream,  those  jewels  flitting  to  and  fro, 
And  all  the  joyance  of  these  laughing  flowers, 
Are  shadowy  emblems  of  realities, 
Not  dark  themselves,  but  the  defect  is  thine, 
Who  hast  not  yet  obtain'd  the  strength  of  vision." 

Ah  !  then,  no  infant,  startled  out  of  sleep, 
Long  past  his  time,  springs  to  the  mother's  milk 
More  eagerly  than  o'er  that  stream  I  bow'd, 
To  make  more  perfect  lustres  of  mine  eyes, 
Which,  when  the  fringes  of  the  lids  had  toueh'd  it, 
Seem'd,  from  a  line,  collapsed  into  a  round. 

—  As  maskers,  when  they  cast  their  visors  off, 
Appear  new  persons,  stript  of  such  disguise, 
The  sparks  and  flowers  assumed  sublimer  forms,2 
And  both  the  courts  of  heaven  were  open'd  round 

me. 

0  splendour  of  the  Deity  !  by  which 
The  lofty  triumph  of  thy  reign 
I  saw, — give  power  to  paint  it  as  I  saw. 

There  is  a  light,  which  renders  visible 
The  Maker  to  the  creature  who  desires 
Felicity  in  seeing  Him  alone: 

—  Though  but  a  ray  of  uncreated  glory, 

Sent  from  the  fountain-head  of  life  and  power, 
It  forms  a  circle,  whose  circumference 
Would  be  too  wide  a  girdle  for  the  sun  : 
And  as  a  cliff  in  water,  from  its  foot, 


1  Beatrice. 

2  They  were  transfigured  from  symbols  into  their  spirit- 
ual identities:  and,  as  intimated  below,  the  sparks  were 
the  souls  of  all  the  saints  who  had  been  removed  in  past 
ages  to  the  bliss  of  heaven. 


Looks  down  upon  its  height  in  that  broad  mirror, 
And  seems  therein  contemplating  its  beauty, 
What    verdure    clothes,   what    flowers    its    flanks 

adorn, 
So,  standing  round  about  a  sea  of  glass, 
As  many  souls  as  earth  hath  sent  to  heaven, 
Upon  ten  thousand  thrones  and  more,  beheld 
Their  happy  semblances  reflected  there. 

If  round  its  lowest  stem  such  pomp  appear, 
What  must  the  full-expanded  foliage  show 
Of  that  celestial  rose?3  and  yet  my  sight, 
Through  its  whole  amplitude  and  elevation, 
Gazed  unbewilder'd;  yea,  at  once  took  in 
The  measure  and  the  amount  of  all  that  joy. 

Del  Paradiso,  canto  xxx. 


THE  PORTAL  OF  HELL. 

Awfully  contrasted  with  the  foregoing  dazzling  spectacle, 
but  far  more  real  in  its  picturesque  and  imaginable  gran- 
deur, is  the  famous  description  of  the  entraucc  upon  the 
infernal  regions. 

"  Through  me,  ye  go  into  the  doleful  city ; 

Through  me,  ye  go  into  eternal  pain ; 

Through  me  ye  go  among  the  lost  for  ever  : 

'T was  justice  moved  my  Founder;  Power  divine, 

Infinite  Wisdom,  and  primeval  Love, 

Ordain'd  and  fix'd  me  here.     Before  me  nought 

That  is  existed,  save  eternal  things, 

And  I  unto  eternity  endure; 

—  Abandon  every  hope,  all  ye  that  enter!" 

These  words  in  sombre  colours  I  beheld 
Inscribed  upon  the  summit  of  a  portal  : 
"'Tis  a  hard  sentence,  Master!"  I  exclaim'd  : 
When  he,  like  one  of  ready  speech,  replied, — 
'  Leave  all  mistrust,  all  base  misgiving,  here ; 
We  now  have  reach'd  the  place  of  which  I  told  thee, 
Where  thou  sbalt  see  the  miserable  throngs 
Who  mourn  the  loss  of  intellectual  good." 


3  This  refers  to  a  dry  conceit,  which  runs  through  much 
of  the  Paradiso.  arranging  the  happy  spirits  throughout 
the  various  heavens,  in  different  forms,  such  as  an  eagle, 
a  cross,  &c,  and  here  a  rose. 


TRANST.  \TIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


281 


Then  straightway,  in  his  hand  enclasping  mine. 
With   heightening    countenance    that    cheer'd    my 

heart, 
He  led  me  down  among  the  things  of  darkness :  — 
There  sighs,  and  groans,  and  lamentable  wailings, 
So  rang  throughout  that  region  without  star, 
That  on  the  threshold  I  began  to  weep : 
Horrible  tongues,  discordant  languages, 
Words  full  of  dolour,  accents  of  sharp  anger, 
Shrill  and  hoarse  voices,  sounds  of  smitten  hands, 
Rose  in  wild  tumult,  eddying  through  the  gloom 
Like  sands  before  the  whirlwind  of  the  desert. 

Dell'  Inferno,  canto  iii. 


ANTEUS. 

Dante  and  Virgil,  in  the  lowest  gulf  hut  one,  find  the  an- 
cient giants  liound  on  rocks  or  wedged  in  caverns.  From 
one  of  these  they  solicit  help,  namely. — a  lift  downward 
into  the  last  ahyss,  where  Lucifer  (three-faced,  and  eter- 
nally worrying,  at  each  of  his  mouths.  .Judas  Iscariot, 
Brutus,  and  Cassius.)  is  embedded  in  adamantine  ice. 
The  negotiation  is  conducted  with  great  finesse  on  the 
part  of  Virgil,  who  assails  the  monster  on  his  weak  side, 
the  "laudum  immensa  cupido,"  unextinguished  even 
there,  where  ''hope  never  comes;''  the  poet  himself  at 
the  same  time  betraying,  though  from  the  lips  of  his 
guide,  that  pride  of  conscious  power  to  praise  or  give 
renown,  which  often  and  unexpectedly  throws  a  passing 
glory  over  his  human  nature,  even  when  the  infirmity 
of  the  latter  is  most  frankly  confessed. 

— We  journey'd  on,  and  reach'd  Anteus, 

Who  stood  above  the  pit's  mouth  five  good  ells, 

Besides  his  head. — "  0  thou !  who  in  the  field 

Of  fortune,  that  made  Scipio  glory's  heir, 

When  Hannibal  with  all  his  veterans  fled, 

Didst  catch  an  hundred  lions  for  thy  prey; 

And  'tis  believed,  that,  in  their  war  with  heaven, 

Hadst    thou    been    with    thy   brethren    they   had 

triumph'd, 
— Land  us  below  —  (nay,  scowl  not  thus  askance)  — 
Where  cold  congeals  Cocytits.     Force  us  not 
Aid  to  implore  of  Tithyus  or  of  Typhon  : 
This  man  can  give  thee  what  ye  covet  here; 
Bow  then,  nor  grin  upon  us  like  a  griffin;1 
He  yet  can  make  thee  famous  through  the  world, 
For  he  still  lives,  and  counts  on  length  of  days, 
If  grace  remove  him  not  before  his  time." 

i  "Torcer  lo  grifo,"  an  Italian  phrase  for  "to  make  an 
ugly  face." 


So  spake  my  master,  and  in  haste  the  giant 
Stretch'd    forth   the    hand   whose    gripe    cramp'd 

Hercules, 
To  take  us  up  :  — when  Virgil  felt  his  grasp, 
"  Hither,"  he  cried,  "come  hither,  let  mc  hold  thee;" 
He  caught  me,  and  we  both  became  one  burden. 
Then,  as  the  tower  of  Carisenda  seems 
Itself  in  motion,  to  the  eye  beneath, 
When  a  cloud  sails  above  its  leaning  top ; 
So  seem'd  Anteus,  when  I  watch'd  him  bend, 
And  wish'd  myself  elsewhere;  but  easily, 
Down  in  the  gulf  that  gorges  Lucifer 
And  Judas,  he  deposited  us  twain  : 
Nor  stooping  staid  he,  but  anon,  erect, 
Rose  like  a  ship's  mast  from  the  rocking  surge. 

Dell'  Inferno,  canto  xxxi. 


CAIN. 


If,  in  the  scene  with  Anteus,  the  emphasis  of  silence  and 
the  perspicuity  of  graphic  delineation  are  happily  exem- 
plified, in  the  following  brief  passage  the  force  of  mere 
sounds  (where  no  image  or  personification  is  presented 
to  the  eye)  is  made  to  produce  a  surprising  effect,  on 
one  of  the  sloping  mazes  of  the  spiral  hill  of  Purgatory, 
the  travellers  having  parted  with  some  agreeable  com- 
pany, which  had  long  engaged  them,  it  is  said :  — 

We  knew  those  friendly  spirits  heard  us  going, 

Their  silence  therefore  show'd  our  path  was  right: 

Now  left  alone,  proceeding  on  our  journey, 

Like  lightning  when  it  rends  the  region,  rush'd 

A  voice  beside  us,  lamentably  crying, 

"Ah!  every  one  that  findeth  me  shall  slay  me!"3 

And  then  it  fled,  like  thunder  that  explodes, 

All  in  a  moment  from  the  riven  cloud : 

—  Scarce  from  that  sound  our  ears  had  truce,  when 

lo! 
Brake  forth  another,  with  astounding  peal, 
"I  am  Aglauros  who  was  turn'd  to  stone."3 
Closer  behind  the  poet's  back  I  eower'd, 
— Then  was  the  air  in  every  quarter  still. 

Del  Purgatorio,  canto  xiv. 


2  Genesis,  iv.  14. 


3  Ovid.  Metam.  lib.  ii. 


282 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE.. 


FARINATA. 

In  the  tenth  canto  of  the  Inferno,  where  heretics  are 
described  as  being  tormented  in  tombs  of  fire,  the  lids  of 
which  are  suspended  over  them  till  the  day  of  judgment, 
Dante  finds  Farinata  D'Uberti,  an  illustrious  commander 
of  the  Ghibellines  (the  adherents  of  the  emperor),  who, 
at  the  battle  of  Monte  Aperto,  in  1260,  had  so  utterly 
defeated  the  Guelfs  (the  Pope's  party)  of  Florence,  that 
the  city  lay  at  the  mercy  of  its  enemies,  by  whom  coun- 
sel was  taken  to  rase  it  to  the  ground;  but  Farinata,  lie- 
cause  his  bowels  yearned  towards  the  place  of  his  nati- 
vity, stood  up  alone  to  oppose  the  barbarous  design ;  and, 
partly  by  menace — having  drawn  his  sword  in  the  midst 
of  the  assembly— and  partly  by  persuasion,  preserved  it 
from  destruction.  Notwithstanding  this  patriotic  inter- 
ference, when  the  Guelfs  afterwards  regained  the  ascen- 
dency, he  and  his  kindred  were  most  inveterately  pro- 
scribed there,  and  doomed  to  perpetual  exile. 
The  interview  between  Dante  and  this  magnanimous  foe, 
in  those 

"  Regions  of  sorrow,  doleful  shades,  where  peace 
And  rest  can  never  dwell ;  hope  never  comes, 
That  comes  to  all;  but  torture  without  end 
Still  urges,  and  a  fiery  deluge,  fed 
With  ever-burning  sulphur  unconsumed," — 

(Paradise  Lost,  book  i.) 
is  painted  with  transcendent  power  of  colouring,  and 
stern,  undecorated  energy  of  style.  To  prepare  the 
reader  for  well  understanding  the  episode,  which  abruptly 
breaks  through  the  order  of  this  high  dramatic  scene. 
it  is  necessary  to  state  that  Cavalcante  Cavalcauti.  whose 
head  appears  out  of  an  adjacent  sepulchre,  was  the  fa- 
ther of  Guido  Cavaleanti,  a  poet,  the  particular  friend 
of  Dante,  and  chief  of  the  Bianchi  party,  who  were 
banished  during  his  priorship. 

"0  Tuscan!     Thou,  who,  through  this   realm  of 

fire, 
Alive  dost  walk,  thus  courteously  conversing, 
Pause,  if  it  please  thee,  here.     Thy  dialect 
Proclaims  thy  lineage  from  that  noble  land, 
Which  I  perhaps  too  much  have  wrong'd." 

Such  sounds 
Suddenly  issued  forth  from  one  of  those 
Sepulchral  caverns.— Tremblingly  I  crept 
A  little  nearer  to  my  guide ;  hut  he 
Cried,  "Turn  again!  what  wouldst  thou  do?     Be- 
hold 
'T  is  Farinata,  that  hath  raised  himself: 
There  may'st  thou  see  him,  upward  from  the  loins." 

i  Alluding,  it  is  supposed,  to  the  fact  that  Guido  had  for- 
saken poetry  for  philosophy,  or  preferred   the   latter   so 


— Already  had  I  fix'd  mine  eyes  on  his, 
Who  stood,  with  bust  and  visage  so  erect, 
As  though  he  look'd  on  hell  itself  with  scorn. 
My  Master  then,  with  prompt  and  resolute  hands, 
Thrust  me  among  the  charucl-vaults  towards  him, 
Saying,— "Thy  words   be   plain!"     When    I   had 

rcach'd 
His  tomb-stone  foot,  he  look'd  at  me  awhile 
As  in  disdain  ;  then  loftily  demanded,— 
"Who  were  thine  ancestors?" 

— Eager  to  tell, 
Nought  I  conceal'd,  but  utter'd  all  the  truth. 
Arching  his  brow  a  little,  he  return'd,— 
"  Bitter  antagonists  of  mine,  of  me, 
And  of  my  party,  were  thy  sires ;  but  twice 
I  scatter'd  them." 

"  If  scatter'd  twice,"  said  I, 
"  Once  and  again  they  came  from  all  sides  back. — 
A  lesson,  which  thy  friends  have  not  well  learn'd." 

Just  then,  a  second  figure  at  his  side 
Emerged  to  view;  unveil'd  above  the  chin, 
And  kneeling,  as  methought.— It  look'd  around 
So  wistfully,  as  though  it  hoped  to  find 
Some  other  with  me;  but,  that  hope  dispell'd, 
Weeping   it   spake:  — "If  through   this  dungeon- 
gloom 
Grandeur  of  genius  guide  thy  venturous  way, 
My   son!—  Where    is    he?  — and    why   not   with 
thee?" 

Then  I  to  him:  —  "Not  of  myself  I  came; 
He  who  awaits  me  yonder  brought  me  hither, 
—  One  whom  perhaps  thy  Guido  held  in  scorn."1 
His  speech  and  form  of  penance  had  already 
Taught  me   his   name;    my  words  were   therefore 

pointed. 
Upstarting    he    exclaim'd,— "How  ?  —  saidst   thou 

held  ? 
Lives  he  not,  then  ?  and  doth  not  heaven's  sweet 

light 
Fall  on  his  eyes  ?" — when  I  was  slow  to  answer, 
Backward  he  sunk  and  re-appear'd  no  more. 

Meanwhile  that  other  most  majestic  form, 
Near  which  I  stood,  neither  changed  countenance, 
Nor  turn'd  his  neck,  nor  lean'd  to  either  side  : 


much  to  the  former,  as  to  think  lightly  of  Virgil  himself 
in  comparison  with  Aristotle. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  DANTE. 


2S3 


"  And  if,"  quoth  he,  our  first  debate  resuming, 
"  They  have  not  well  that  lesson  learn'd,  the  thought 
Torments  me  more  than  this  infernal  bed : 
And  yet,  not  fifty  times  her  changing  face, 
Who  here  reigns  sovereign,  shall  be  re-illumined, 
Ere  thou  shalt  know  how  hard  that  lesson  is.1 
—  But  tell  me  —  so  may'st  thou  return  in  peace 
To  the  dear  world  above  !  —  why  are  thy  people 
In  all  their  acts  so  mad  against  my  race  ?  " 

"  The  slaughter  and  discomfiture,"  said  I, 
"That  turn'd  the  river  red  at  Mont'  Apcrto, 
Have  caused  such  dire  proscription  in  our  temples." 

"He  shook  his  head,  deep-sighing,  and  rejoin'd; 
"  I  was  not  there  alone,  nor  without  cause 
Engaged  with  others  ;  but  I  was  alone, 
And  stood  in  her  defence  with  open  brow, 
When  all  our  council,  with  one  voice,  decreed 
That  Florence  should  be  rased  from  her  foundation." 

"So  may  thy  kindred  find  repose,  as  thou 
Shalt  loose  a  knot  which  hath  entangled  me  !" 

He  foretells  Dante's  own  expulsion  from  his  country, 
within  fifty  lunar  months. 


The  reader  of  these  lines  (however  inferior  the  translation 
may  be)  cannot  have  failed  to  perceive  by  what  natural 
action  and  speech  the  paternal  anxiety  of  Cavalcanti 
respecting  his  son  is  indicated.  On  his  bed  of  torture  he 
hears  a  voice  which  he  knows  to  be  that  of  his  son's  friend : 
he  starts  up,  looks  eagerly  about,  as  expecting  to  see  his 
son:  but  observing  the  friend  only,  he  at  once  interrupts 
the  dialogue  between  Dante  and  Farinata.  The  poet  hap- 
pening to  employ  the  past  tense  of  a  verb  in  reference  to 
what  his  "Guido"  might  have  done,  the  miserable  parent 
instantly  lays  hold  of  that  minute  circumstance  as  an 
intimation  of  his  death,  and  asks  hurried  questions  of 
Which, he  dreads  the  answers,— precisely  in  the  manner  of 
Macduff,  when  he  learns  from  the  messenger  that  his  wife 
and  children  had  been  murdered  by  Macbeth.  Dante 
hesitating  to  reply.  Cavalcanti  takes  the  worst  for  granted, 
"lis  back  in  despair,  and  appears  not  again.  Thus  with 
him 

"Even  from  the  tomb  the  voice  of  nature  cries." 


Thus  I  adjured  him  :  —  "  Ye  foresee  what  time 
(If  rightly  I  have  learn'd)  will  bring  to  pass, 
But  to  the  present,  otherwise,  are  blind. 

"We  see,  like  him  that  hath  an  evil  eye, 
Far  distant  things,"  said  he,  "  so  highest  God 
Enlightens  us;  but  yet  when  they  approach, 
Or  when  they  are,  our  intellect  falls  short; 
Nor  can  we  know,  save  by  report  from  others, 
Aught  of  the  state  of  man  below  the  sun  : 
Hence  may'st  thou  comprehend,  how  all  our  know- 
ledge 
Shall  cease  for  ever  from  that  point  which  shuts 
The  portal  of  the  future." 

At  that  moment, 
Compunction  smote  me  for  my  recent  fault, 
And  I  cried  out :  —  "0  tell  that  fallen  one, 
His  son  is  yet  among  the  living:  —  say, 
That  if  I  falter'd  to  reply  at  first, 
With  that  assurance,  'twas  because  my  thoughts 
Were  harass'd  by  the  doubt  which  thou  hast  solved." 
DeW  Inferno,  canto  x. 

The  poet,  however,  at  the  close  of  the  scene,  unexpectedly 
recurs  to  his  own  fault  with  the  tenderness  of  compunction 
and  delicacy  due  to  an  unfortunate  being,  whom  he  had 
unintentionally  agonised  by  his  silence,  and  sends  a  mes- 
sage to  the  old  man  that  his  son  yet  lives.  Contrasted  wil  li 
this  trembling  sensibility  of  a  father's  affection,  stronger 
than  death,  and  out-feeling  the  pains  of  hell,  is  the  proud, 
calm,  patient  dignity  of  Farinata,  who,  though  wounded 
to  the  quick  by  the  sarcastic  retort  of  Dante,  at  the  instant 
when  the  discourse  was  interrupted,  stands  unmoved  in 
mind,  in  look,  in  posture,  till  the  episode  is  ended:  and 
then,  without  the  slightest  allusion  to  it,  he  takes  up  the 
suspended  argument  at  the  last  words  of  his  opponent,  as 
though  his  thoughts  had  been  all  the  while  ruminating  on 
the  disgrace  of  his  friends,  the  afflictions  of  his  family,  and 
the  inextinguishable  enmity  of  his  countrymen  against 
himself.  His  noble  rejoinder,  on  Dante's  reference  to  the 
carnage  at  Monte  Aperto.  as  the  cause  of  bis  people's 
implacability,  is  above  all  praise.  Indeed,  it  would  be 
difficult  to  point  out.  in  ancient  or  modern  tragedy,  a  pus- 
sage  of  more  sublimity  or  pathos,  in  which  so  few  words 
express  so  much,  yet  leave  more  to  be  imagined  by  any  one 
who  has  "  a  human  heart,"  than  the  whole  of  this  scene 
in  the  original  Italian  exhibits. 


284 


SONGS  ON  THE  ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY. 


SONGS  ON  THE  ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY 


IN   THE   BRITISH    COLONIES. 
August  1,  1834. 


No.  I. 
THE  RAINBOW. 

Sign  of  the  passing  storm, 

Symbol  of  wrath  gone  by, 
Born  of  the  cloud  and  sun, — what  form 

Of  beauty  tracks  the  sky  ? 
From  Afric  to  the  isles  of  slaves 
The  rainbow  spans  the'  Atlantic  waves. 

Black,  white,  and  bond,  and  free, 
Castes  and  proscriptions,  cease ; 

The  Negro  wakes  to  liberty, 
The  Negro  sleeps  in  peace; 

Read  the  great  charter  on  his  brow, 

"  I  AM  a  MAN,  a  BROTHER,  now.* 


No.  II. 


Hail  to  Britannia,  fair  liberty's  isle ! 

Her  frown  quail'd  the  tyrant,  the  slave  caught  her 

smile  : 
Fly  on  the  winds  to  tell  Afric  the  story ; 

Say  to  the  mother  of  mourners,  "  Rejoice  !  " 
Britannia  went  forth,  in  her  beauty,  her  glory, 

And  slaves  sprang  to  men  at  the  sound  of  her 
voice : 
—  Praise  to  the  God  of  our  fathers  ;    'twas  He, 
Jehovah,  that  conquer'd,  my  country  !  by  thee. 


L 


THE  NEGRO  IS  FREE. 

[To  Moore's  Melody  of"  Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's 
dark  sea."] 

Blow  ye  the  trumpet  abroad  o'er  the  sea; 
Britannia  hath  conquer'd,  the  Negro  is  free  ; 

Sing,  for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is  broken, 
His  scourges  and  fetters,  all  clotted  with  blood, 

Are  wrench'd  from  his  grasp,  for  the  word  was 
but  spoken, 
And  fetters  and  scourges  were  plunged  in  the  flood  ; 
Blow  ye  the  trumpet  abroad  o'er  the  sea, 
Britannia  hath  conquer'd,  the  Negro  is  free. 


No.  III. 


SLAVERY  THAT  WAP. 

Ages,  ages  have  departed 

Since  the  first  dark  vessel  bore 

Afric's  children,  broken-hearted, 
To  the  Caribbean  shore ; 

She,  like  Rachel, 
Weeping,  for  they  were  no  more. 

Millions,  millions,  have  been  slaughter'd 
In  the  fight  and  on  the  deep  ; 

Millions,  millions  more  have  water'd, 
With  such  tears  as  captives  weep, 

Fields  of  travail, 

Where  their  bones  till  doomsday  sleep. 

Mercy,  Mercy,  vainly  pleading, 

Rent  her  garments,  smote  her  breast, 

Till  a  voice  from  heaven  proceeding, 
Gladden'd  all  the  gloomy  west,— 

"  Come,  ye  weary  ! 

Come,  and  I  will  give  you  rest ! " 


SONGS  OX  THE    ABOLITION  OF  NEGRO  SLAVERY.                                 285 

Tidings,  tidings  of  salvation  ! 

No.  V. 

Britons  rose  with  one  accord, 

Purged  the  plague-spot  from  our  nation, 

THE  NEGRO'S  VIGIL, 

Negroes  to  their  rights  restored ; 

On  the  Eve  of  the  First  of  August,  1834. 

Slaves  no  longer, 

Free-men*,  —  Free-men  of  the  Lord. 

"They  that  watch  for  the  morning: — they  that  watch  for 

the  morning."                                          Psalm  exxx.  6. 

Hie  to  the  mountain  afar, 
All  in  the  cool  of  the  even; 

Led  by  yon  beautiful  star, 

No.  IV. 

First  of  the  daughters  of  heaven  : 

Sweet  to  the  slavo  is  the  season  of  rest, 

SLAVERY  TIIAT  IS  NOT. 

Something  far  sweeter  he  looks  for  to-night; 

His  heart  lies  awake  in  the  depth  of  his  breast, 

God  made  all  his  creatures  free ; 

And  listens    till  God    shall   say,  "  Let  there   be 

Life  itself  is  liberty  ; 

light!" 

God  ordain'd  no  other  bands 

Than  united  hearts  and  hands. 

Climb  we  the  mountain,  and  stand 

High  in  mid-air,  to  inhale, 

Sin  the'  eternal  charter  broke, 

Fresh  from  our  old  father-land, 

—  Sin,  itself  earth's  heaviest  yoke  ; 

Balm  in  the  ocean-borne  gale : 

Tyranny  with  sin  began, 

Darkness  yet  covers  the  face  of  the  deep ; 

Man  o'er  brute,  and  man  o'er  man. 

Spirit  of  freedom !  go  forth  in  thy  might, 

To  break  up  our  bondage  like  infancy's  sleep, 

Pass  five  thousand  pagan  years 

The  moment  when  God  shall  say,  "Let  there  be 
light .' " 

Of  creation's  groans  and  tears; 

To  oppression's  climax  come, 

Gaze  we,  meanwhile,  from  this  peak  ; 

In  the  crimes  of  Christendom. 

Praying  in  thought  while  we  gaze; 

Watch  for  the  morning's  first  streak, 

What  were  these?  — Let  Afric's  sands, 

Prayer  then  be  turn'd  into  praise  : 

Ocean's  depths,  West  Indian  strands, 

Shout  to  the  valleys,  "  Behold  ye  the  morn, 

In  the  day  of  wrath  declare  : 

Long,  long  desired,  but  denied  to  our  sight :" 

—  Oh  !  the  mercy  that  they  were  ;  — 

Lo !  myriads  of  slaves  into  men  are  new-born  ; 

The  word  was  omnipotent,  "Let  there  be  light!" 

For  they  are  not, —  cannot  be  ; 

Life  again  is  liberty  : 

Hear  it  and  hail  it ;  —  the  call, 

And  the  Negro's  only  bands 

Island  to  island  prolong; 

Love-knit  hearts,  and  love-link'd  hands. 

Liberty  !  liberty  !  —  all 

Join  in  the  jubilee-song: 

So  the  plague  of  slavery  cease  ! 

Hark  !  'tis  the  children's  hosannas  that  ring ; 

So  return  primeval  peace ! 

Hark !  they  are  free-men  whose  voices  unite; 

While  the  ransom'd  tribes  record 

While  England,  the  Indies,  and  Africa,  sing 

All  the  goodness  of  the  Lord. 

"  Amen,  Hallelujah  !  "at  "Let  there  be  light  !" 

2Sfi 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  VERSES 


■Dnsts  tn  t\)t  3tt rm d r tj 

OF 

THE  LATE  RICHARD  REYNOLDS, 


OF   BRISTOL. 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  Author  has  nothing  to  say  in  favour  of  the 
following  Verses,  except  that  they  are  the  sincere 
tribute  of  his  affections,  as  well  as  his  mind,  to  the 
Christian  virtues  of  the  deceased. 

Richard  Reynolds  was  one  of  the  Society  of 
Friends,  hut,  as  faY  as  human  judgment  can  extend, 
he  was  one  of  those  who  also  are  Christians,  not  in 
word  only,  but  in  deed.  To  his  memory  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Bristol  have  already  instituted  —  and  may 
their  posterity  perpetuate  it! — the  noblest  monu- 
ment, perhaps,  that  man  ever  raised  in  honour  of 
his  fellow-man.  This  will  be  sufficiently  explained 
by  the  following  advertisement:  — 

"At  a  general  meeting  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Bristol,  held  in  the  Guildhall  of  that  city,  on 
Wednesday,  the  2d  October,  1818,  the  right  wor- 
shipful the  Mayor  in  the  chair:  —  It  was  unani- 
mously resolved,  That,  in  consequence  of  the  severe 
loss  which  society  has  sustained  by  the  death  of  the 
venerable  Richard  Reynolds,  and  in  order  to  per- 
petuate, as  far  as  may  be,  the  great  and  important 
benefits  he  has  conferred  upon  the  city  of  Bristol 
and  its  vicinity,  and  to  excite  others  to  imitate  the 
example  of  the  departed  philanthropist,  an  Associa- 
tion be  formed  under  the  designation  of  '  Reynolds's 
Commemoration  Society.' 

"That  the  members  of  the  Society  do  consist  of 
life  subscribers  of  ten  guineas  or  upwards,  and 
annual  subscribers  of  one  guinea  or  upwards  ;  and 
that  the  object  of  this  society  be  to  grant  relief  to 
persons  in  necessitous  circumstances,  and  also  occa- 
sional assistance  to  other  benevolent  institutions  in 
or  near  the  city,  to  enable  them  to  continue  or  in- 


crease their  usefulness ;  and  that  especial  regard  be 
had  to  the  Samaritan  Society,  of  which  Richard 
Reynolds  was  the  founder. 

"  That  the  cases  to  be  assisted  and  relieved  be 
entirely  in  the  discretion  of  the  committee;  but  it 
is  recommended  to  them  not  to  grant  any  relief  or 
assistance  without  a  careful  investigation  of  the  cir- 
cumstance of  each  case;  and  that,  in  imitation  of 
the  example  of  the  individual  whom  this  society  is 
designed  to  commemorate,  it  be  considered  as  a 
sacred  duty  of  the  committee,  to  the  latest  period 
of  its  existence,  to  be  wholly  uninfluenced  in  the 
distribution  of  its  funds  by  any  considerations  of 
sect  or  party." 

The  third  piece  in  the  ensuing  series,  entitled 
"A  Good  Man's  Monument,"  was  intended  for  a 
figurative  representation  of  this  sublime  and  uni- 
versal charity.  The  resemblance  ought  to  have 
been  sufficiently  obvious,  without  being  pointed  out 
here. 

At  the  public  meeting,  mentioned  in  the  foregoing 
advertisement,  many  eloquent  panegyrics  were  pro- 
nounced on  the  character  of  Richard  Reynolds. 
Here  let  his  own  words  and  deeds  speak  for  him, 
in  a  few  cases  which  were  made  public  on  that 
occasion. 

Mr.  Butterworth,  of  London,  said:  —  "When  the 
first  subscription  was  opened  to  relieve  the  distress 
in  Germany,  I  took  some  part  in  that  institution. 
Being  in  Bristol  soon  afterwards,  I  had  some  con- 
versation with  Mr.  Reynolds  on  the  subject.  He 
made  many  judicious  observations  and  inquiries  as 
to  the  nature  of  the  distress,  and  the  best  mode  of 
distribution,  which  served  as  valuable  hints  to  the 
committee  in  London.    He  then  modestly  subscribed 


a  moderate  sum  with  his  name;  but,  shortly  after, 
the  committee  received  a  blank  letter,  having  the 
post-mark  of  Bristol,  and  enclosing  a  Bank  of 
England  bill  for  five  hundred  pounds." 

Dr.  Pole  gave  the  following  account: — "It  is 
well  known,  that  he  made  it  his  constant  practice 
from  religious  principle  annually  to  spend  the  whole 
of  his  income.  What  his  moderate  domestic  esta- 
blishment did  not  require,  he  disposed  of  in  sub- 
scriptions and  donations  for  promoting  whatever 
was  useful  to  society,  as  well  as  to  lessen  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  afflicted,  without  regard  to  names,  sects, 
or  parties.  At  one  particular  time  (if  I  am  rightly 
informed),  he  wrote  to  a  friend  in  London,  ac- 
quainting him  that  he  had  not,  that  year,  spent  the 
whole  of  his  income, —  requesting  that,  if  he  (his 
friend)  knew  of  any  particular  cases,  claiming  cha- 
ritable relief,  he  (Mr.  R.)  might  be  informed.  His 
friend  communicated  to  him  the  distressing  situation 
of  a  considerable  number  of  persons  confined  in  a 
certain  prison  for  small  debts.  What  did  this  hu- 
mane and  generous  philanthropist  do  on  this  re- 
presentation ?  He  cleared  the  whole  of  their  debts. 
He  swept  this  direful  mansion  of  all  its  miserable 
tenant*.  He  opened  the  prison  doors,  proclaimed 
deliverance  to  the  captives,  and  let  the  oppressed 
go  free." 

Dr.  Stock  said  that  he  had  heard,  from  what  he 
considered  good  authority,  the  particulars  of  an  act 
of  princely  liberality  :  — 

"Mr.  Reynolds,  in  1795,  resided  at  Coalbrook 
Dale.  He  addressed  a  letter  to  some  friends  in 
London,  stating  the  impression  made  upon  his  mind 
by  the  distresses  of  the  community,  and  desiring 
that  they  would  draw  upon  him  for  such  sum  as 
they  might  think  proper.  They  complied  with  his 
request,  and  drew,  in  a  very  short  time,  to  the 
extent  of  eleven  thousand  pounds.  It  appeared, 
however,  that  they  had  not  yet  taken  due  measure 
of  his  liberality  :  for,  in  the  course  of  a  few  months, 
he  again  wrote,  stating,  that  his  mind  was  not  easy, 
and  his  coffers  were  still  too  full.  In  consequence  of 
which  they  drew  for  nine  thousand  pounds  more !" 

Mr.  Stephen  Prust  told  this  characteristic  anec- 
dote : — "Mr.  Reynolds  having  applied  to  a  gentle- 
man whom  he  thought  rich,  but  who  was  really 
only  in  circumstances  of  mediocrity,  to  stimulate 
him  to  give,  made  use  of  the  following  argument : 
— 'When  gold  encircles  the  heart,  it  contracts  it  to 
such  a  degree,  that  no  good  can  issue  from  it;  but 


when  the  pure  gold  of  faith  and  love  gets  into  the 
heart,  it  eNpands  it  so  that  the  last  drop  of  life-blood 
will  flow  into  any  channel  of  benevolence.'" 

The  following  pleasing  circumstance  comes  from 
the  same  authority: — "A  lady  applied  to  him  on 
behalf  of  an  orphan.  After  he  had  given  liberally, 
she  said,  'When  he  is  old  enough,  I  will  teach  him 
to  name  and  thank  his  benefactor.'  '  Stop  (said  the 
good  man),  thou  art  mistaken — we  do  not  thank 
the  clouds  for  the  rain.  Teach  him  to  look  higher, 
and  thank  Him  who  giveth  both  the  clouds  and  the 
rain.' " 

The  Rev.  William  Thorpe,  in  the  course  of  a 
most  impressive  speech,  related  a  circumstance 
which  strikingly  exemplifies  the  humility  of  this 
excellent  man: — "So  far  was  he  from  being  in- 
flated with  the  pride  of  wealth,  that  he  spoke  the 
genuine  sentiments  of  his  heart  when  he  said  to  a 
friend  who  applied  to  him  with  a  case  of  distress, 
'My  talent  is  the  meanest  of  all  talents  —  a  little 
sordid  dust;  but  the  man  in  the  parable,  who  had 
but  one  talent,  was  accountable ;  and  for  the  talent 
that  I  possess,  humble  as  it  is,  I  am  also  accountable 
to  the  great  Lord  of  all.' " 

A  simple  but  noble  monument,  from  the  associa- 
tion of  illustrious  names,  was  erected  to  the  honour 
of  Richard  Reynolds,  during  his  lifetime,  by  one  of 
his  most  favoured  friends,  who  entered  into  rest 
long  before  him.  On  hearing  of  Lord  Nelson's 
victory  at  Trafalgar,  the  late  worthy  Mr.  John  Bir- 
till,  of  Bristol,  placed  a  marble  tablet  in  a  private 
chapel  in  his  dwelling-house,  bearing  this  inscrip- 
tion :  — 

"JOHN  HOWARD. 
JONAS  HANWAY. 
JOHN  FOTHERGILL,  M.  D. 
RICHARD  REYNOLDS. 
"'Not  unto  us,  0  Lord!  not  unto  us,  but  unto 
Thy  Name  be  the  glory.' 

"Beneath  some  ample  hallow'd  dome, 

The  warrior's  bones  are  laid, 
And  blazon'd  on  the  stately  tomb 

Ilis  martial  deeds  display'd. 
Beneath  an  humbler  roof  we  place 

This  monumental  stone, 
To  names  the  poor  shall  ever  bless, 

And  Charity  shall  own: 
To  soften  human  woe  their  care, 
To  feel  its  sigh,  to  aid  its  prayer, 
Their  work  on  earth, —  not  to  destroy; 
And  their  reward — their  Master's  joy." 


2SS 


INTRODUCTION  TO  THE  VERSES 


The  following  extract  of  a  letter,  from  a  benevo- 
lent friend  of  the  deceased,  introduces  a  most  in- 
teresting document,  written  some  years  since  by  the 
departed  philanthropist :—"  A  short  time  before 
the  last  illness  of  our  late  venerable  friend,  Mr. 
Reynolds,  I  had  a  pleasing  conversation  with  him 
on  the  subject  of  the  various  charities  in  this  city 
which  he  had  so  liberally  patronised.  He  informed 
me,  that  he  thought  it  right  to  be  his  own  executor, 
as  it  respected  these  and  other  charities;  and,  in 
confirmation  that  this  had  long  been  his  opinion, 
put  into  my  hands  the  following  copy  of  a  letter 
he  had  written  twelve  years  ago  on  the  subject. 

"A.  T. 

'■  Bristol,  Oct.  11, 1816." 


"Sridgeujater, 

"  11th  of  6th  month,  1804. 

"  The  sentiment  to  which  thy  brother alludes, 

though  I  know  not  that  I  expressed  it  to  him,  was 

in  consequence  of  a  reference  to  some  post-mortuary 

charities,  if  thou  wilt  allow  of  the  expression,  when, 

adverting  to  the  saying  of  the  Apostle  that  we  were 

to  receive  hereafter  according  to  the  things  done  in 

the  hody,  I  contended   that  these   were   not  deeds 

done  in  the  body ;  and  I  do  not  think  the  assertion 

need  be  qualified  by  the  alteration  thou  suggestest, 

of  being  best  done  while  we  are  in  the  body,  for  in 

the  case  under  consideration  we  keep  what  we  have 

as  long  as  we  are  in  the  body,  and  would  keep  it 

longer  if  we  could.     All  that  we  do  is  to  prevent 

our  heirs   from  doing  as  we  have  done;   and  the 

deed  is  not  done,  either  by  them  or  by  us,  while  we 

are  in  the  body.     If  we  should  admit  there  is  any 

merit  in  the  deed,  it  certainly  cannot  belong  to  us 

who  do  it  not;  and  that  which  we  do,  by  enjoining 

what  others  shall  do,  is  lessening,  as  much  as  we 

can,  every  thing  like  merit  in  them,  by  depriving 

them  of  a  free  agency,  especially  if  they  are  the 

persons  to  whom  the   money  would  have  gone  if 

we  had  died  intestate;  these,  if  any,  have  a  right  to 

take  credit  on  account  of  the  act.     Perhaps  those, 

if  any   such   there   be,  who   prevent   others   from 

having  that  which  the  law  would  give  them,  would 

do  well  to  consider  whether  the  account  is  properly 

adjusted  by  their  obliging  those,  to  whom  they  do 

give  it,  to  apply  it  to  charitable  purposes  which  can 

do  them  no  credit :  the  testator  certainly  can  claim 

none  as  far  as  a  deed  done  in  the  body,  which,  as  I 

said  before,  neither  was  then  done,  nor  would  have 


been  done  had  he  continued  in  the  body.  I  am 
pleased  to  find  the  reflection  warmed  thy  heart.  I 
hope  it  will  move  thy  hands  also  upon  an  occasion 
of  which  the  same  post  that  brought  me  thy  letter 
brought  me  an  account,  styled  a  case  of  distress, 

relating  that ,  of ,  was  drowned  near , 

leaving  a  wife  and  nine  children,  without  any  pro- 
vision for  their  support;  that  contributions  would 
be  received  at  the  banks  there  till  the  5th  instant, 
after  which  time  the  inhabitants  would  be  applied 
to  personally.  I  suppose  thou  art  not  a  stranger  to 
the  ease  —  most  likely  not  to  the  individuals;  and, 
as  a  neighbour,  still  more  as  a  parent  of  a  nume- 
rous offspring,  I  conclude  thy  assistance  will  be 
proportionably  liberal,  nor  the  less  for  its  being  a 
deed  done  in  the  body.  I  know  not  who  sent  me 
the  case,  which  I  did  not  receive  till  the  time  was 
expired  for  public  contributions;  nevertheless,  if 
thou  wilt  inform  me  what  thou  and  others  have 
done,  and  ye  have  left  room  for  more,  though  a 
stranger  to  the  persons,  and  remote  from  the  place, 
my  mite  shall  not  be  withdrawn  by 

"  Thy  affectionate  friend, 

"  Richard  Reynolds." 


Finally,  "mark  the  perfect  man,  and  behold  the 
upright :  for  the  end  of  that  man  is  peace,"  as  the 
annexed  authentic  document  will  testify. 

''September  14,  1816.  —  Memorandum  respecting  the  late 
Richard  Reynolds. 

"In  the  spring  of  this  year,  his  anxious  friends 
thought  they  saw  in  his  countenance  indications  of 
declining  health;  he  was  indeed,  about  this  time, 
frequently  complaining  of  weakness  and  loss  of 
appetite.  In  May  he  was  very  unwell  from  a  cold; 
but  had  nearly  recovered  it,  when  a  bilious  attack 
reduced  him  considerably,  and  did  not  permanently 
yield  to  medical  skill.  Seeing  this,  he  was  urged 
to  try  the  waters  of  Cheltenham  :  to  which  he  sub- 
mitted, evidently  to  satisfy  his  friends;  for  his  mind 
was  fixed  on  the  probability,  that  the  complaint 
would  terminate  his  earthly  pilgrimage ;  and  with 
this  view  he  frequently  expressed  himself  quite  sa- 
tisfied, having  brought  his  mind  to  a  dependence 
only  on  the  mercy  of  God  in  Christ  Jesus.  He 
went  to  Cheltenham  the  7th  August;  and  continued, 
with  but  little  variation  as  to  his  disorder,  till  Friday 


IN  COMMEMORATION  OF  RICHARD  REYNOLDS. 


2S9 


the  6th  September  —  walking  and  riding  out  every 
day,  and  even  driving  the  carriage  himself,  accom- 
panied by  his  daughter  or  cousin  only  —  on  which 
day  he  walked  out  before  breakfast;  but  soon  after 
became  mu,ch  weaker,  and  towards  evening  de- 
clined rapidly.  On  Sunday,  however,  he  revived 
so  much  as  to  give  hope  that  it  would  be  possible 
to  remove  him  to  Bristol  the  next  day, —  the  pros- 
pect of  which  had  before  appeared  to  be  agreeable 
to  him.  But  these  hopes  were  disappointed ;  he 
sunk  again  in  the  course  of  that  night,  never  to  re- 
vive. For  many  years,  he  had  not  been  confined 
to  his  bed  a  whole  day ;  and,  during  this  illness,  he 
got  up  and  sat  at  table  with  the  family  at  all  their 
meals,  till  Monday,  bis  last  day,  when  he  was  in- 
duced by  his  friends  to  lie  in  bed  till  the  afternoon  ; 
then  he  arose,  drank  tea  with  them  in  another  room, 
and  went  to  bed  at  the  usual  time.  At  five  o'clock 
next  morning,  an  alteration  for  the  worse  appearing 
in  his  breathing,  some  of  his  relatives,  who  had  re- 
tired for  a  while,  were  called  to  him;  but  none  of 
them  thought  his  end  so  near.  He  had  beforo  de- 
sired that  his  daughter  would  be  with  him  at  his 
close ;  and  now  about  six  o'clock,  raising  himself  a 
little,  he  signified  that  she  should  go  to  the  other 
side  of  the  bed;  when,  turning  on  his  side,  and 
taking  her  hand  in  his,  and  pressing  it,  he  quietly, 

and  almost  imperceptibly,  expired  ! A  silence, 

which  can  hardly  be  described,  pervaded  the  room  ; 
no  one  quitting  the  awful  scene  for  more  than  an 
hour.  This  was  the  10th  September,  1816.  'Know 
ye  not  that  there  is  a  prince  and  a  great  man  fallen 
this  day  in  Israel  ?  ' 

"  A  few  days  previously  to  this  event,  after  some- 
thing consolatory  had  been  ministered  by  an  en- 
deared female  friend,  he  said,  'My  faith  and  hope 
are,  as  they  have  long  been,  on  the  mercy  of  God, 
through  Jesus  Christ,  who  was  the  propitiation  for 
my  sins,  and  not  for  mine  only,  but  for  the  sins  of 
the  whole  world.' 

"During  his  illness  he  was  exceedingly  placid, 
and  kind  to  every  body ;  his  countenance  and  con- 
duct indicating  that  all  within  was  peace.  No 
alarm,  no  regret,  at  leaving  a  world  in  which  no  one 
perhaps  had  more  of  its  real  blessings  to  relinquish 
—  the  love,  the  veneration,  of  all  around  him  ;  but, 
on  the  contrary,  a  willingness  to  yield  up  his  spirit 
to  Him  who  gave  it,  and  had  sanctified  it  by  the 
blood  of  the  Redeemer." 
19 


Verses  to  the  fWcmovii 


THE  LATE  RICHARD  REYNOLDS. 


THE    DEATH    OF    THE    RIGHTEOUS. 

This  place  is  holy  ground; 

World,  with  thy  cares,  away  ! 
Silence  and  darkness  reign  around, 
But,  lo  !  the  break  of  day  : 
AVhat  bright  and  sudden  dawn  appears. 
To  shine  upon  this  scene  of  tears  ? 

'Tis  not  the  morning  light, 

That  wakes  the  lark  to  sing  : 
'Tis  not  a  meteor  of  the  night, 
Nor  track  of  angel's  wing  : 
It  is  an  uncreated  beam, 
Like  that  which  shone  on  Jacob's  dream. 

Eternity  and  Time 

Met  for  a  moment  here  : 
From  earth  to  heaven,  a  scale  sublime 
Rested  on  either  sphere, 
Whose  steps  a  saintly  figure  trod, 
By  Death's  cold  hand  led  home  to  God. 

He  landed  in  our  view, 

'Midst  flaming  hosts  above  : 
Whose  ranks  stood  silent,  while  he  drew 
Nigh  to  the  throne  of  love, 
And  meekly  took  the  lowest  seat. 
Yet  nearest  his  Redeemer's  feet. 

Thrill'd  with  ecstatic  awe, 

Entranced  our  spirits  fell, 
And  saw  —  yet  wist  not  what  they  saw, 
And  heard  —  no  tongue  can  tell 
What  sounds  the  ear  of  rapture  caught, 
What  glory  fill'd  the  eye  of  thought. 


200 


VERSES  IX  COMMEMORATION  OF  RICHARD  REYNOLD? 


Thus  far  above  the  pole, 

On  wings  of  mounting  fire, 
Faith  may  pursue  the'  enfranchised  soul, 
But  soon  her  pinions  tire  ; 
It  is  not  given  to  mortal  man 
Eternal  mysteries  to  scan. 

—  Behold  the  bed  of  death  ; 
This  pale  and  lovely  clay; 
Heard  ye  the  sob  of  parting  breath  ? 
Mark'd  ye  the  eye's  last  ray  ? 
Xo  :  —  life  so  sweetly  ceased  to  be, 
It  lapsed  in  immortality. 

Could  tears  revive  the  dead, 

Rivers  should  swell  our  eyes  ! 
Could  sighs  recall  the  spirit  fled, 
We  would  not  quench  our  sighs 
Till  love  relumed  this  alterM  mien, 
And  all  the'  embodied  soul  were  seen. 

Bury  the  dead  :  —  and  weep 

In  stillness  o'er  the  loss  j 
Bury  the  dead;  —in  Christ  they  sleep, 
Who  bore  on  earth  His  cross, 
And  from  the  grave  their  dust  shall  rise, 
In  His  own  image  to  the  skies. 


II. 

THE    MEMORY    OF    THE   JCST. 

Strike  a  1  uder,  loftier  lyre  : 
Bolder,  sweeter  strains  employ; 

Wake,  Remembrance  !  — and  inspire 
Sorrow  with  the  song  of  joy. 

Who  was  He,  for  whom  our  tears 
Flow'd,  and  will  not  cease  to  flow  ? 

Full  of  honours  and  of  years. 
In  the  dust  his  head  lies  low. 

Yet  resurgent  from  the  dust, 
Springs  aloft  his  mighty  name ; 

For  the  memory  of  the  Just 
Lives  in  everlasting  fame. 

He  was  One,  whose  open  face 
Did  his  inmost  heart  reveal : 

One,  who  wore  with  meekest  grace, 
On  his  forehead.  Heaven's  broad  seal. 


Kindness  all  his  lips  expressed, 

Charity  was  every  word  ; 
Him  the  eye  beheld,  and  bless'd : 

And  the  ear  rejoiced  that  heard. 
• 
Like  a  patriarchal  sage, 

Holy,  humble,  courteous,  mild, 
He  could  blend  the  awe  of  age 

With  the  sweetness  of  a  child. 

As  a  cedar  of  the  Lord, 

On  the  height  of  Lebanon, 
Shade  and  shelter  doth  afford, 

From  the  tempest  and  the  sun  :  — 

While  in  green  luxuriant  prime, 
Fragrant  airs  its  boughs  diffuse, 

From  its  locks  it  shakes  sublime, 
O'er  the  hills,  the  morning  dews  :  — 

Thus  he  flourish'd,  tall  and  strong, 
Glorious  in  perennial  health  : 

Thus  he  seatter'd,  late  and  long, 
All  his  plenitude  of  wealth  !  — 

Wealth,  which  prodigals  had  deem'd 
Worth  the  soul's  uncounted  cost : 

Wealth,  which  misers  had  esteem'd 
Cheap,  though  heaven  itself  were  lost. 

This,  with  free  unsparing  hand 
To  the  poorest  child  of  need, 

This  he  threw  around  the  land, 
Like  the  sower's  precious  seed. 

In  the  world's  great  harvest-day, 
Every  grain  on  every  ground, 

Stony,  thorny,  by  the  way, 

Shall  an  hundred-fold  be  found. 

Yet,  like  noon's  refulgent  blaze, 

Though  he  shone  from  east  to  west, 

Far  withdrawn  from  public  gaze, 
Secret  goodness  pleased  him  best. 

As  the  sun,  retired  from  sight, 

Through  the  purple  evening  gleam?, 

Or,  unrisen,  clothes  the  night 

In  the  morning's  golden  beams ;  — 


VERSES  IN  COMMEMORATION  OF  RICHARD  REYNOLDS. 


291 


Thus,  beneath  the'  horizon  dim, 
He  would  hide  his  radiant  head, 

And,  on  eyes  that  saw  not  him, 
Light  and  consolation  shed. 

Oft  his  silent  spirit  went, 

Like  an  angel  from  the  throne, 

On  benign  commissions  bent, 
In  the  fear  of  God  alone. 

Then  the  widow's  heart  would  sing, 
As  she  turn'd  her  wheel,  for  joy  ; 

Then  the  bliss  of  hope  would  spring 
On  the  outcast  orphan-boy. 

To  the  blind,  the  deaf,  the  lame, 

To  the  ignorant  and  vile, 
Stranger,  captive,  slave,  he  came 

With  a  welcome  and  a  smile. 

Help  to  all  he  did  dispense, 

Gold,  instruction,  raiment,  food, 

Like  the  gifts  of  Providence, 
To  the  evil  and  the  good. 

Deeds  of  mercy,  deeds  unknown, 

Shall  eternity  record, 
Which  he  durst  not  call  his  own, 

For  he  did  them  to  the  Loud. 

As  the  Earth  puts  forth  her  flowers, 
Heaven-ward  breathing  from  below; 

As  the  clouds  descend  in  showers, 
When  the  southern  breezes  blow;  — 

Thus  his  renovated  mind. 

Warm  with  pure  celestial  love, 
Shed  its  influence  on  mankind, 

While  its  hopes  aspired  above. 

Full  of  faith  at  length  he  died, 
And,  victorious  in  the  race, 

Won  the  crown  for  which  he  vied 

Not  of  merit,  but  of  grace. 


III. 

A    GOOD    MAX'S    MONUMENT. 

TnE  pyre,  that  burns  the  aged  Bramin's  bones, 
Runs  cold  in  blood,  and  issues  living  groans, 
When  the  whole  Haram  with  the  husband  dies, 
And  demons  dance  around  the  sacrifice. 

In  savage  realms,  when  tyrants  yield  their  breath, 
Herds,  flocks,  and  slaves,  attend  their  lord  in  deatli ; 
Arms,  chariots,  carcasses,  a  horrid  heap, 
Rust  at  his  side,  or  share  his  mouldering  sleep. 

When  heroes  fall  triumphant  on  the  plain  ; 
For  millions  conquer'd,  and  ten  thousands  slain; 
For  cities  levell'd,  kingdoms  drench'd  in  blood, 
Navies  annihilated  on  the  flood  ; 
—  The  pageantry  of  public  grief  requires 
The  splendid  homage  of  heroic  lyres, 
And  genius  moulds  irapassion'd  brass  to  breathe 
The  deathless  spirit  of  the  dust  beneath, 
Calls  marble  honour  from  its  cavern'd  bed, 
And  bids  it  live  — the  proxy  of  the  dead. 

Reynolds  expires,  a  nobler  chief  than  these ; 
No  blood  of  widows  stains  his  obsequies; 
But  widows'  tears,  in  sad  bereavement,  fall, 
And  foundling  voices  on  their  father  call  : 
No  slaves,  no  hecatombs,  his  relics  crave, 
To  gorge  the  worm,  and  crowd  his  quiet  grave  : 
But  sweet  repose  his  slumbering  ashes  find, 
As  if  in  Salem's  sepulchre  enshrined, 
And  watching  angels  waited  for  the  day 
When  Christ  should  bid  them  roll  the  stone  away. 

Not  in  the  fiery  hurricane  of  strife, 
'Midst  slaughter'd  legions,  he  resign'd  his  life; 
But  peaceful  as  the  twilight's  parting  ray, 
His  spirit  vanish'd  from  its  house  of  clay, 
And  left  on  kindred  souls  such  power  imprest, 
They  seem'd  with  him  to  enter  into  rest. 
Hence  no  vain  pomp,  his  glory  to  prolong, 
No  airy  immortality  of  song  ; 
No  sculptured  imagery,  of  bronze  or  stone, 
To  make  his  lineaments  for  ever  known, 
Reynolds  requires: — his  labours,  merits,  name, 
Demand  a  monument  of  surer  fame  • 
Not  to  record  and  praise  his  virtues  past, 
But  show  them  living,  while  the  world  shall  last; 


292 


VERSES  IX  COMMEMORATION"  OF  RICHARD  REYNOLDS 


Not  to  bewail  one  Reynolds,  snatch'J  from  earth, 

But  give,  in  every  age,  a  Reynolds  birth  ; 

In  every  age  a  Reynolds  ;  born  to  stand 

A  prince  among  the  worthies  of  the  land, 

By  Nature's  title,  written  in  his  face  : 

More  than  a  Prince  —  a  sinner  saved  by  grace, 

Prompt  at  his  meek  and  lowly  Master's  call 

To  prove  himself  the  minister  of  all. 


Bristol !  to  thee  the  eye  of  Albion  turns ; 
At  thought  of  thee  thy  country's  spirit  burns; 
For  in  thy  walls,  as  on  her  dearest  ground, 
Are  "British  minds  and  British  manners"  found: 
And,  'midst  the  wealth  which  Avon's  waters  pour 
From  every  clime  on  thy  commercial  shore, 
Thou  hast  a  native  mine  of  worth  untold  ; 
Thine  heart  is  not  encased  in  rigid  gold, 
Withered  to  mummy,  steel'd  against  distress; 
No  —  free  as  Severn's  waves,  that  spring  to  bless 
Their  parent  hills,  but  as  they  roll  expand 
In  argent  beauty  through  a  lovelier  land, 
And  widening,  brightening  to  the  western  sun, 
In  floods  of  glory  through  thy  channel  run  ; 
Thence,  mingling  with  the  boundless  tide,  are  hurl'd 
In  ocean's  chariot  round  the  utmost  world  : 
Thus  flow  thine  heart-streams,  warm  and  unconfin'd, 
At  home,  abroad,  to  woe  of  every  kind. 
\Yorthy  wert  thou  of  Reynolds  :  —  worthy  he 
To  rank  the  first  of  Britons  even  in  thee. 
Reynolds  is  dead;  —  thy  lap  receives  his  dust 
Until  the  resurrection  of  the  just: 
Reynolds  is  dead;  but  while  thy  rivers  roll, 
Immortal  in  thy  bosom  live  his  soul! 


Go,  build  his  monument:  —  and  let  it  be 
Firm  as  the  land,  but  open  as  the  sea; 
Low  in  his  grave  the  strong  foundations  lie, 
Yet  be  the  dome  expansive  as  the  sky, 
On  crystal  pillars  resting  from  above, 
Its  sole  supporters  —  works  of  faith  and  love  ; 
So  clear,  so  pure,  that  to  the  keenest  sight 
They  cast  no  shadow;  all  within  be  light: 
No  walls  divide  the  area,  nor  enclose; 
Charter  the  whole  to  every  wind  that  blows; 
Then  rage  the  tempest,  flash  the  lightnings  blue, 
And  thunders  roll, —they  pass  unharming  through. 


One  simple  altar  in  the  midst  be  placed, 
AVith  this,  and  only  this,  inscription  graced, 
The  song  of  angels  at  Immanuel's  birth, — 
•'  Glory  to  God  !  good-will  and  peace  on  earth." 
There  be  thy  duteous  sons  a  tribe  of  priests, 
Not  offering  incense,  nor  the  blood  of  beasts, 
But  with  their  gifts  upon  that  altar  spread ; 

—  Health  to  the  sick,  and  to  the  hungry  bread, 
Beneficence  to  all,  their  hands  shall  deal, 
'With  Reynolds'  single  eye  and  hallow'd  zeal. 
Pain,  want,  misfortune,  thither  shall  repair : 
Folly  and  vice  reclaim'd  shall  worship  there 
The  God  of  him  —  in  whose  transcendent  mind 
Stood  such  a  temple,  free  to  all  mankind : 

Thy  God.  thrice-honour'd  city  !  bids  thee  raise 
That  fallen  temple,  to  the  end  of  days  : 
Obey  His  voice;  fulfil  thine  high  intent; 

—  Yea,  be  thyself  the  Good  Man's  Monument .' 

1818. 


MISCELLANEOUS  TOEMS. 


203 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


"0  laborum 
Dulce  lenimen,  mihi  cunque  salve 
Rite  vocanti." 
IIorat.  ad  Lyram,  Oil.  XXXII.  Lib.  1. 


THE  GRAVE. 

There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found, 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 

Low  in  the  ground. 

The  storm  that  wrecks  the  winter  sky 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose, 
Than  summer-evening's  latest  sigh 

That  shuts  the  rose. 

I  long  to  lay  this  painful  head 
And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 
From  all  my  toil. 

For  misery  stole  me  at  my  birth, 
And  cast  me  helpless  on  the  wild : 

I  perish  ; 0  my  Mother  Earth  ! 

Take  home  thy  child. 

On  thy  dear  lap  these  limbs  reclined 
Shall  gently  moulder  into  thee  ; 
Nor  leave  one  wretched  trace  behind 
Resembling  me. 

Hark!  —  a  strange  sound  affrights  mine  ear; 
My  pulse, —  my  brain  runs  wild, —  I  rave; 
— Ah  !  who  art  thou  whose  voice  I  hear? 

"I  am  THE  GRAVE! 

"  The  GRAVE,  that  never  spake  before, 
Hath  found  at  length  a  tongue  to  chide ; 
0  listen  !  —  I  will  speak  no  more  :  — 
Be  silent,  Pride ! 

"Art  thou  a  WRETCH  of  hope  forlorn, 
The  victim  of  consuming  care  ? 
Is  thy  distracted  conscience  torn 
By  fell  despair? 


"Do  foul  misdeeds  of  former  times 
Wring  with  remorse  thy  guilty  breast? 
And  ghosts  of  unforgiven  crimes 

Murder  thy  rest  ? 

"  Lash'd  by  the  furies  of  the  mind, 
From  Wrath  and  Vengeance  wouklst  thou  flee  ? 
Ah  !  think  not,  hope  not,  fool,  to  find 
A  friend  in  me. 

"By  all  the  terrors  of  the  tomb, 
Beyond  the  power  of  tongue  to  tell ; 
By  the  dread  secrets  of  my  womb; 

By  Death  and  Hell; 

"  I  charge  thee,  LIVE  !  —  repent  and  pray; 
In  dust  thine  infamy  deplore ; 
There  yet  is  mercy  ; — go  thy  way, 
And  sin  no  more. 

"Art  thou  a  MOURNER?— Hast  thou  known 
The  joy  of  innocent  delights, 
Endearing  days  for  ever  flown, 

And  tranquil  nights  ? 

"  0  LIVE  ! and  deeply  cherish  still 

The  sweet  remembrance  of  the  past: 
Rely  on  Heaven's  unchanging  will 
For  peace  at  last. 

"Art  thou  a  WANDERER  ?— Hast  thou  seen 
OVrwhelming  tempests  drown  thy  bark  ? 
A  shipwreek'd  sufferer  hast  thou  been, 
Misfortune's  mark  ? 

"Though  long  of  winds  and  waves  the  sport, 
Condemn'd  in  wretchedness  to  roam, 
LIVE  !  —  thou  shalt  reach  a  sheltering  port, 
A  quiet  home. 


294 


THE  GRAVE.— THE  LYRE. 


"To  FRIENDSHIP  didst  thou  trust  thy  fame, 
And  was  thy  friend  a  deadly  foe, 
Who  stole  into  thy  breast  to  aim 
A  surer  blow  ? 

"LIVE  !  —  and  repine  not  o'er  his  loss, 
A  loss  unworthy  to  be  told : 
Thou  hast  mistaken  sordid  dross 

For  friendship's  gold. 

"Seek  the  true  treasure  seldom  found, 
Of  power  the  fiercest  griefs  to  calm, 
And  soothe  the  bosom's  deepest  wound 
With  heavenly  balm. 

"Did  WOMAN'S  charms  thy  youth  beguile, 
And  did  the  fair  one  faithless  prove? 
Hath  she  betray 'd  thee  with  a  smile, 
And  sold  thy  love  ? 

"  LIVE  ! — 't  was  a  false  bewildering  fire  : 
Too  often  Love's  insidious  dart 
Thrills  the  fond  soul  with  wild  desire, 
But  kills  the  heart. 

"  Thou  yet  shalt  know  how  sweet,  how  dear, 
To  gaze  on  listening  Beauty's  eye  ; 
To  ask, —  and  pause  in  hope  and  fear 
Till  she  reply. 

"A  nobler  flame  shall  warm  thy  breast, 
A  brighter  maiden  faithful  prove; 
Thy  youth,  thine  age,  shall  yet  be  blest 
In  woman's  love. 

" Whate'er  thy  lot, — whoe'er  thou  be, — 

Confess  thy  folly, —  kiss  the  rod, 
And  in  thy  chastening  sorrows  see 

The  hand  of  GOD. 

"A  bruised  reed  He  will  not  break; 
Afflictions  all  his  children  feel : 
He  wounds  them  for  his  mercy's  sake, 
He  wounds  to  heal. 

"Humbled  beneath  his  mighty  hand, 
Prostrate  his  Providence  adore: 
'Tis  done! — Arise!  HE  bids  thee  stand, 
To  fall  no  more. 


"  Now,  Traveller  in  the  vale  of  tears, 
To  realms  of  everlasting  light, 
Through  Time's  dark  wilderness  of  years, 
Pursue  thy  flight. 

"There  ia  a  calm  fur  those  who  weep, 
A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found ; 
And  while  the  mouldering  ashes  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground, 

"The  Soul,  of  origin  divine, 
GOD'S  glorious  image,  freed  from  clay, 
In  heaven's  eternal  sphere  shall  shine 
A  star  of  day. 

"  The  SUN  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 
A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky  : 
The  SOUL,  immortal  as  its  Sire, 

SHALL  NEVER  DIE." 

1804. 


THE    LYRE. 

"  Ah!  who  would  love  the  lyre!  " 

W.  B.  Stevens. 

Where  the  roving  rill  meander'd 

Down  the  green  retiring  vale, 
Poor  forlorn  Al<  :.va  s  wander'd, 

Pale  with  thought,  serenely  pale: 
Timeless  sorrow  o'er  his  face 
Breathed  a  melancholy  grace, 
And  fix'd  on  every  feature  there 
The  mournful  resignation  of  despair. 

O'er  his  arm,  his  lyre  neglected, 

Once  his  dear  companion,  hung, 
And,  in  spirit  deep  dejected, 

Thus  the  pensive  poet  sung; 
While,  at  midnight's  solemn  noon, 
Sweetly  shone  the  cloudless  moon, 
And  all  the  stars,  around  his  head, 
Benignly  bright,  their  mildest  influence  shed. 

"Lyre!  0  Lyre!  my  chosen  treasure, 

Solace  of  my  bleeding  heart; 
Lyre  !  0  Lyre  !  my  only  pleasure, 

We  must  now  for  ever  part; 


REMONSTRANCE  TO  WINTER. 


205 


Fur  in  vain  thy  poet  sings, 
Woos  in  vain  thine  heavenly  strings; 
The  Muse's  wretched  sons  are  born 
To  cold  neglect,  and  penury,  and  scorn. 

"That  which  Alexander  sigh'd  for, 
That  which  C.e-au's  soul  possess'd, 
That  which  heroes,  kings,  have  died  for  — 

Glory!  —  animates  my  breast: 
Hark  !  the  charging  trumpets'  throats 
Pour  their  death-defying  notes; 
'To  arms  !'  they  call  :  to  arms  I  fly, 
Like  Womb  to  conquer,  and  like  Wolfe  to  die. 

"Soft!  —  the  blood  of  murder'd  legions 
Summons  vengeance  from  the  skies  ; 

Flaming  towns  and  ravaged  regions, 
All  in  awful  judgment  rise. — 

0  then,  innocently  brave, 

1  will  wrestle  with  the  wave  ; 

Lo  !  Commerce  spreads  the  daring  sail, 
And  yokes  her  naval  chariots  to  the  gale. 

"Blow,  ye  breezes  !  —  gently  blowing, 

AY  aft  me  to  that  happy  shore 
Where,  from  fountains  ever  flowing, 

Indian  realms  their  treasures  pour  ; 
Thence  returning,  poor  in  health, 
Rich  in  honesty  and  wealth, 
O'er  thee,  my  dear  paternal  soil, 
I'll  strew  the  golden  harvest  of  my  toil. 

"  Then  shall  Misery's  sons  and  daughters 

In  their  lowly  dwellings  siug  : 
Bounteous  as  the  Nile's  dark  waters, 

Undiscover'd  as  their  spring, 
I  will  scatter  o'er  the  land 
Blessings  with  a  secret  hand; 
For  such  angelic  tasks  design'd, 
I  give  the  lyre  and  sorrow  to  the  wind." 

On  an  oak,  whose  branches  hoary, 

Sigh'd  to  every  passing  breeze, 
Sigh'd  and  told  the  simple  story 

Of  the  patriarch  of  trees  ; 
High  in  air  his  harp  he  hung, 
Now  no  more  to  rapture  strung ; 
Then,  warm  in  hope,  no  longer  pale, 
He  blush'd  adieu,  and  rambled  down  the  dale. 


Lightly  touch'd  by  fairy  angers, 

Hark  !  —  the  Lyre  enchants  the  wind; 
Fond  Alceis  listens,  lingers  — 

Lingering,  listening,  looks  behind. 
Now  the  music  mounts  on  high, 
Sweetly  swelling  through  the  sky  : 
To  every  tone,  with  tender  heat, 
His  heart-strings  vibrate,  and  his  pulses  beat. 

Now  the  strains  to  silence  stealing, 

Soft  in  eestacies  expire  ; 
Oh!  with  what  romantic  feeling 

Poor  AlcJEUS  grasps  the  Lyre  : 
Lo !  his  furious  hand  he  flings 
In  a  tempest  o'er  the  strings; 
He  strikes  the  chords  so  quick,  so  loud, 
'Tis  Jove  that  scatters  lightning  from  a  cloud. 

"  Lyre  !  0  Lyre  !  my  chosen  treasure, 

Solace  of  my  bleeding  heart; 
Lyre  !  0  Lyre  !  my  only  pleasure, 

We  will  never,  never  part  : 
Glory,  Commerce,  now  in  vain 
Tempt  me  to  the  field,  the  main  : 
The  Muse's  sons  are  blest,  though  born 
To  cold  neglect,  and  penury,  and  scorn. 

"  What  though  all  the  world  neglect  me, 

Shall  my  haughty  soul  repine  '. 
And  shall  poverty  deject  inc. 

While  this  hallow'd  Lyre  is  mine  ? 
Heaven  —  that  o'er  my  helpless  head 
Many  a  wrathful  vial  shed, — ■ 
Heaven  gave  this  Lyre, — and  thus  decreed, 
Be  thou  a  bruised,  but  not  a  broken  reed. 


REMONSTRANCE  TO  WINTER. 

An  !  why  unfeeling  Winter,  why 

Still  flags  thy  torpid  wing? 
Fly,  melancholy  season,  fly, 

And  yield  the  year  to  Spring. 

Spring, —  the  young  harbinger  of  love, 

An  exile  in  disgrace, — 
Flits  o'er  the  scene,  like  Noah's  dove, 

Nor  finds  a  resting-place. 


296 


LINES  ON  YARDLEY  OAK. 


When  on  the  mountain's  azure  peak 

Alights  her  fairy  form, 
Cold  blow  the  winds, —  and  dark  and  bleak 

Around  her  rolls  the  storm. 

If  to  the  valley  she  repair 

For  shelter  and  defence, 
Thy  wrath  pursues  the  mourner  there, 

And  drives  her,  weeping,  thence. 

She  sees  the  brook; — the  faithless  brook, 

Of  her  unmindful  grown, 
Feels  the  chill  magic  of  thy  look, 

And  lingers  into  stone. 

She  woos  her  embryo-flowers  in  vain 

To  rear  their  infant  heads  ;  — 
Deaf  to  her  voice,  her  flowers  remain 

Enchanted  in  their  beds. 

In  vain  she  bids  the  trees  expand 
Their  green  luxuriant  charms;  — 

Bare  in  the  wilderness  they  stand, 
And  stretch  their  withering  arms. 

Her  favourite  birds,  in  feeble  notes 

Lament  thy  long  delay  ; 
And  strain  their  little  stammering  throats 

To  charm  thy  blasts  away. 

Ah  !  Winter,  calm  thy  cruel  rage, 

Release  the  struggling  year; 
Thy  power  is  past,  decrepit  Sage, 

Arise  and  disappear ! 

The  stars  that  graced  thy  splendid  night 

Are  lost  in  warmer  rays; 
The  Sun,  rejoicing  in  his  might, 

Unrolls  celestial  days. 


Then  why,  usurping  Winter,  why 
Still  flags  thy  frozen  wing? 

Fly,  unrelenting  tyrant,  fly  ! 
And  yield  the  year  to  Spring. 


SONG. 

Round  Love's  Elysian  bowers 

The  fairest  prospects  rise; 
There  bloom  the  sweetest  flowers, 
There  shine  the  purest  skies  : 
And  joy  and  rapture  gild  awhile 
The  cloudless  heaven  of  Beauty's  smile. 

Round  Love's  deserted  bowers 

Tremendous  rocks  arise  ; 
Cold  mildews  blight  the  flowers, 
Tornadoes  rend  the  skies; 
And  Pleasure's  waning  moon  goes  down 
Amid  the  night  of  Beauty's  frown. 

Then  Youth,  thou  fond  believer! 

The  wily  Siren  shun  ; 
Who  trusts  the  dear  Deceiver 
Will  surely,  be  undone  : 
When  Beauty  triumphs,  ah  !  beware;  — 
Her  smile  is  hope  —  her  frown  despair. 


LINES  WRITTEN    UNDER  A  DRAWING    OF 
YARDLEY  OAK, 

CELEBRATED   by   cowper. 

See  Ilai/lty's  Life  and  Letters  of  W.  Camper,  Esq. 

This  sole  survivor  of  a  race 
Of  giant  oaks,  where  once  the  wood 
Rang  with  the  battle  or  the  ch'ase, 
In  stern  and  lonely  grandeur  stood. 

From  age  to  age  it  slowly  spread 
Its  gradual  boughs  to  sun  and  wind; 
From  ago  to  age  its  noble  head 
As  slowly  wither'd  and  declined. 

A  thousand  years  are  like  a  day, 
When  fled;  —  no  longer  known  than  seen; 
This  tree  was  doom'd  to  pass  away, 
And  be  as  if  it  ne'er  had  been;  — 

But  mournful  Cov.per,  wandering  nigh, 
For  rest  beneath  its  shadow  came, 
When,  lo  !  the  voice  of  days  gone  by 
Ascended  from  its  hollow  frame. 


FRIENDSHIP,  LOVE,  AXD  TRUTH.— RELIGION. 


297 


0  that  the  Poet  had  reveal'd 
The  words  of  those  prophetic  strains, 
Ere  death  the  eternal  mystery  seal'd  ! 
Yet  in  his  song  the  Oak  remains. 

And,  fresh  in  undeeayiug  prime, 
There  may  it  live,  beyond  the  power 
Of  storm  and  earthquake,  Man  and  Time, 
Till  Nature's  conflagration-hour. 


SONG. 


WRITTEN    FOR    A    SOCIETY    WHOSE    MOTTO    WAS 
"FRIENDSHIP,    LOVE,    AXD    TRUTH." 

When  "Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth"  abound 

Among  a  band  of  Brothers, 
The  cup  of  joy  goes  gaily  round, 

Each  shares  the  bliss  of  others  : 
Sweet  roses  grace  the  thorny  way 

Along  this  vale  of  sorrow  ; 
The  flowers  that  shed  their  leaves  to-day 
Shall  bloom  again  to-morrow  : 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth. 
Are  holy  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth  !  " 

On  halcyon  wings  our  moments  pass, 

Life's  cruel  cares  beguiling  ; 
Old  Time  lays  down  his  scythe  and  glass, 

In  gay  good-humour  smiling: 
With  ermine  beard  and  forelock  grey 

His  reverend  front  adorning, 
He  looks  like  Winter  turn'd  to  May, 
Night  soften'd  into  Morning. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "  Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth  !  " 

From  these  delightful  fountains  flow 

Ambrosial  rills  of  pleasure  : 
Can  man  desire,  can  Heaven  bestow, 

A  more  resplendent  treasure  ? 
Adorn'd  with  gems  so  richly  bright, 

We  '11  form  a  Constellation, 
Where  every  Star  with  modest  light 
Shall  gild  his  proper  station. 
How  grand  in  age,  how  fair  in  youth, 
Are  holy  "Friendship,  Love,  and  Truth! 
1799. 


RELIGION. 

AN    OCCASIONAL    nVMN. 

Through  shades  and  solitudes  profound 
The  fainting  traveller  winds  his  way  ; 

Bewildering  meteors  glare  around, 
And  tempt  his  wandering  feet  astray. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  to  his  eye 
The  sudden  moon's  inspiring  light, 

When  forth  she  sallies  through  the  sky, 
The  guardian-angel  of  the  night. 

Thus  mortals,  blind  and  weak,  below 
Pursue  the  phantom  Bliss,  in  vain  ; 

The  world's  a  wilderness  of  woe, 
And  life  a  pilgrimage  of  pain. 

Till  mild  Religion,  from  above, 

Descends,  a  sweet  engaging  form  — 

The  messenger  of  heavenly  love, 
The  bow  of  promise  in  a  storm, 

Then  guilty  passions  wing  their  flight, 
Sorrow,  remorse,  affliction,  cease  ; 

Religion's  yoke  is  soft  and  light, 
And  all  her  paths  are  paths  of  peace. 

Ambition,  pride,  revenge,  depart, 
And  folly  flies  her  chastening  rod  ; 

She  makes  the  humble  contrite  heart 
A  temple  of  the  living  God. 

Beyond  the  narrow  vale  of  time, 
Where  bright  celestial  ages  roll, 

To  scenes  eternal,  scenes  sublime, 

She  points  the  way,  and  leads  the  soul 

At  her  approach  the  Grave  appears 
The  Gate  of  Paradise  restored; 

Her  voice  the  watching  Cherub  hears, 
And  drops  his  double-flaming  sword. 

Baptized  with  her  renewing  fire, 

May  we  the  crown  of  glory  gain  ; 
Rise  when  the  Host  of  Heaven  expire, 
And  reign  with  God,  for  ever  reign  ! 
1799. 


20S 


Til  E  J  OY  OF  GRIEF. 


"THE  JOY  OF  GRIEF." 

OSSIAN. 

Sweet  the  hour  of  tribulation, 
When  the  heart  can  freely  sigh, 

And  the  tear  of  resignation 
Twinkles  in  the  mournful  eye. 

Have  you  felt  a  kind  emotion 

Tremble  through  your  troubled  breast, 
Soft  as  Evening  o'er  the  ocean 

When  she  charms  the  waves  to  rest? 

Have  you  lost  a  friend  or  brother  ? 

Heard  a  father's  parting  breath? 
Gazed  upon  a  lifeless  mother, 

Till  she  seem'd  to  wake  from  death? 

Have  you  felt  a  spouse  expiring 
In  your  arms  before  your  view  ? 

Watch' d  the  lovely  soul  retiring 
From  her  eyes  that  broke  on  you  ? 

Did  not  grief  then  grow  romantic, 
Raving  on  remember' d  bliss? 

Did  you  not.  with  fervour  frantic, 
Kiss  the  lips  that  felt  no  kiss  ? 

Yes !  but  when  you  had  resign'd  her, 
Life  and  you  were  reconciled  ; 

Anna  left  — she  left  behind  her  — 
One,  one  dear,  one  only  child. 

But,  before  the  green  moss,  peeping, 
His  poor  mother's  grave  array'd, 

In  that  grave  the  infant  sleeping 
On  the  mother's  lap  was  laid. 

Horror  then,  your  heart  congealing, 
Chill'd  you  with  intense  despair  ; 

Can  you  call  to  mind  the  feeling? 
No  !  there  was  no  feeling  there. 

From  that  gloomy  trance  of  sorrow 
When  you  woke  to  pangs  unknown, 

How  unwelcome  was  the  morrow, 
For  it  rose  on  too  alone  ! 


Sunk  in  self-consuming  anguish, 
Can  the  poor  heart  always  ache? 

No;  the  tortured  nerve  will  languish, 
Or  the  strings  of  life  must  break. 

O'er  the  yielding  brow  of  Sadness 
One  faint  smile  of  comfort  stole; 

One  soft  pang  of  tender  gladness 
Exquisitely  thrill'd  your  soul. 

While  the  wounds  of  woe  are  healing, 

While  the  heart  is  all  resign'd; 
'Tis  the  solemn  feast  of  feeling, 
'Tis  the  sabbath  of  the  mind. 

Pensive  memory  then  retraces 

Scenes  of  bliss  for  ever  fled, 
Lives  in  former  times  and  places, 

Holds  communion  with  the  dead. 

And  when  night's  prophetic  slumbers 
Rend  the  veil  to  mortal  eyes, 

From  their  tombs  the  sainted  numbers 
Of  our  lost  companions  rise. 

You  have  seen  a  friend,  a  brother, 
Heard  a  dear  dead  father  speak ; 

Proved  the  fondness  of  a  mother, 
Felt  her  tears  upon  your  cheek. 

Dreams  of  love  your  grief  beguiling, 
You  have  clasp'd  a  consort's  charms, 

And  received  your  infant  smiling 
From  his  mother's  sacred  arms. 

Trembling,  pale,  and  agonising, 

While  you  mourn'd  the  vision  gone, 

Bright  the  morning-star  arising, 

Open'd  heaven,  from  whence  it  shone. 

Thither  all  your  wishes  bending, 

Rose  in  ecstasy  sublime  ; 
Thither  all  your  hopes  ascending, 

Triumph'd  over  death  and  time. 

Thus  afflicted,  bruised,  and  broken, 
Have  you  known  such  sweet  relief? 

YTes,  my  friend  :  and,  by  this  token, 
You  have  felt  "  the  joy  of  guief." 


THE  BATTLE  OF  ALEXANDRIA. 

At  Thebes,  in  Ancient  Eirypt,  was  erected  a  statue  of 
Mcrunon.  with  a  harp  in  his  hand. -which  is  said  to  have 
hailed  with  delightful  music  the  rising  sun,  and  in 
melancholy  tones  to  have  mourned  his  departure.  The 
introduction  of  this  celebrated  Lyre  on  a  modern  occa- 
sion will  he  censured  as  an  anachronism  by  those  only 
who  think  that  its  chords  have  been  touched  unskilfully. 

Harp  of  Meiunon  !  sweetly  strung 

To  the  music  of  the  spheres; 
AVhile  the  Hero's,  dirge  is  sung, 

Breathe  enchantment  to  our  ears. 


Thus,  above  the  storms  of  time, 
Towering  to  the  sacred  spheres, 

Stand  the  Pyramids  sublime, — 
Rocks  amid  the  flood  of  years. 

Now  the  veteran  Chief  drew  nigh, 
Conquest  towering  on  his  crest, 

Valour  beaming  from  his  eye, 
Pity  bleeding  in  his  breast. 

Britain  saw  him  thus  advance 
In  her  Guardian-Angel's  form; 

But  lie  lower'd  on  hostile  France, 
Like  the  Demon  of  the  storm. 


As  the  Sun's  descending  beams, 
Glancing  o'er  thy  feeling  wire, 

Kindle  every  chord  that  gleams, 
Like  a  ray  of  heavenly  lire  : 

Let  thy  numbers,  soft  and  slow, 
O'er  the  plain  with  carnage  spread, 

Soothe  the  dying  while  they  flow 
To  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

Bright  as  Beauty,  newly  born, 
Blushing  at  her  maiden  charms; 

Fresh  from  Ocean  rose  the  Morn, 
When  the  trumpet  blew  to  arms. 

Terrible  soon  grew  the  light 
On  the  Egyptian  battle-plain, 

As  the  darkness  of  that  night 
When  the  eldest  born  was  slain. 

Lash'd  to  madness  by  the  wind, 

As  the  Red  Sea  surges  roar, 
Leave  a  gloomy  gulf  behind, 

And  devour  the  shrinking  shore; 

Thus,  with  overwhelming  pride, 
Gallia's  brightest,  boldest  boast, 

In  a  deep  and  dreadful  tide, 
Roll'd  upon  the  British  host. 

Dauntless  these  their  station  held, 
Though  with  unextinguish'd  ire 

Gallia's  legions  thrice  repell'd, 

Thrice  return'd  through  blood  and  fire. 


On  the  whirlwind  of  the  war 
High  he  rode  in  vengeance  dire; 

To  his  friends  a  leading  star, 
To  his  foes  consuming  fire. 

Then  the  mighty  pour'd  their  breath, 
Slaughter  feasted  on  the  brave  ! 

'Twas  the  Carnival  of  Death; 
"I  was  the  Vintage  of  the  Grave. 

Charged  with  Abercronibie's  doom, 
Lightning  wing'd  a  cruel  ball: 

'Twas  the  Herald  of  the  Tomb, 
And  the  Hero  felt  the  call  — 

Felt  —  and  raised  his  arm  on  high; 

Victory  well  the  signal  knew, 
Darted  from  his  awful  eye, 

And  the  force  of  France  o'erthrew. 

But  the  horrors  of  that  fight 
Were  the  weeping  Muse  to  tell, 

0  'twould  cleave  the  womb  of  night, 
And  awake  the  dead  that  fell ! 

Gash'd  with  honourable  scars, 
Low  in  Glory's  lap  they  lie; 

Though  they  fell,  they  fell  like  stars, 
Streaming  splendour  through  the  sky. 

Yet  shall  Memory  mourn  that  day, 
When,  with  expectation  pale, 

Of  her  soldier  far  away 

The  poor  widow  hears  the  tale. 


aoo 


THE    PILLOW. 


In  imagination  -wild 

She  shall  wander  o'er  this  plain, 
Rave, —  and  hid  her  orphan-child 

Seek  his  sire  among  the  slain. 

Gently,  from  the  western  deep, 

0  ye  evening  hreezes,  rise  ! 
O'er  the  Lyre  of  Memnon  sweep, 

Wake  its  spirit  with  your  sighs. 

Harp  of  Memnon  !  sweetly  strung 
To  the  music  of  the  spheres  ; 

While  the  Hero's  dirge  is  sung, 
Breathe  enchantment  to  our  ears. 

Let  thy  numbers,  soft  and  slow, 
O'er  the  plain  with  carnage  spread, 

Soothe  the  dying  while  they  flow 
To  the  memory  of  the  dead. 

None  but  solemn,  tender  tones 
Tremble  from  thy  plaintive  wires: 

Hark!  the  wounded  Warrior  groans: 
Hush  thy  warbling!  — he  expires. 

Hush  !  — while  Sorrow  wakes  and  weeps  : 
O'er  his  relics  cold  and  pale, 

Night  her  silent  vigil  keeps, 
In  a  mournful  moonlight  veil. 

Harp  of  Memnon  !  from  afar, 

Ere  the  lark  salute  the  sky, 
Watch  the  rising  of  the  star 

That  proclaims  the  morning  nigh. 

Soon  the  Sun's  ascending  rays, 

In  a  flood  of  hallow'd  fire, 
O'er  thy  kindling  chords  shall  blaze, 

And  thy  magic  soul  inspire. 

Then  thy  tones  triumphant  pour, 
Let  them  pierce  the  Hero's  grave ; 

Life's  tumultuous  battle  o'er, 
0  how  sweetly  sleep  the  brave ! 

From  the  dust  their  laurels  bloom, 
High  they  shoot  and  flourish  free; 

Glory's  Temple  is  the  tomb; 
Death  is  immortality. 
1S01. 


THE    PILLOW. 

The  head  that  oft  this  Pillow  press'd, 
That  aching  head,  is  gone  to  rest; 
Its  little  pleasures  now  no  more, 
And  all  its  mighty  sorrows  o'er, 
For  ever,  in  the  worm's  dark  bed, 
For  ever  sleeps  that  humble  head  ! 

My  friend  was  young,  the  world  was  new ; 
The  world  was  false,  my  friend  was  true ; 
Lowly  his  lot,  his  birth  obscure, 
His  fortune  hard,  my  friend  was  poor; 
To  wisdom  he  had  no  pretence, 
A  child  of  suffering,  not  of  sense; 
For  Nature  never  did  impart 
A  weaker  or  a  warmer  heart. 
His  fervent  soul,  a  soul  of  flame, 
Consumed  its  frail  terrestrial  frame ; 
That  fire  from  Heaven  so  fiercely  burn'd, 
That  whence  it  came  it  soon  return'd : 
And  yet,  0  Pillow  !  yet  to  me, 
My  gentle  friend  survives  in  thee; 
In  thee,  the  partner  of  his  bed, 
In  thee,  the  widow  of  the  dead. 

On  Helicon's  inspiring  brink, 
Ere  yet  MY  friend  had  learn'd  to  think, 
Once  as  he  pass'd  the  careless  day 
Among  the  whispering  reeds  at  play, 
The  Muse  of  Sorrow  wander'd  by; 
Her  pensive  beauty  fix'd  his  eye; 
With  sweet  astonishment  he  smiled; 
The  Gipsy  saw  — she  stole  the  child; 
And  soft  on  her  ambrosial  breast 
Sang  the  delighted  babe  to  rest; 
Convey'd  him  to  her  inmost  grove, 
And  loved  him  with  a  Mother's  love. 
Awaking  from  his  rosy  nap, 
And  gaily  sporting  on  her  lap, 
His  wanton  fingers  o'er  her  lyre 
Twinkled  like  electric  fire  : 
Quick  and  quicker  as  they  flew, 
Sweet  and  sweeter  tones  they  drew; 
Now  a  bolder  hand  he  flings, 
And  dives  among  the  deepest  strings; 
Then  forth  the  music  brake  like  thunder; 
Back  he  started,  wild  with  wonder. 
The  Muse  of  Sorrow  wept  for  joy, 
And  clasp'd  and  kiss'd  her  chosen  boy. 


T  U  E    PILLOW. 


301 


Ah!  then  no  more  his  smiling  hours 
Were  spent  in  Childhood's  Eden-bowers  ; 
The  fall  from  Infant-innocence, 
The  fall  to  knowledge,  drives  us  thence: 
0  Knowledge  !  worthless  at  the  price, 
Bought  with  the  loss  of  Paradise. 
As  happy  ignorance  declin'd, 
And  reason  rose  upon  his  mind, 
Romantic  hopes  and  fond  desires 
(Sparks  of  the  soul's  immortal  fires) 
Kindled  within  his  breast  the  rage 
To  breathe  through  every  future  age, 
To  clasp  the  flitting  shade  of  fame, 
To  build  an  everlasting  name, 
O'erleap  the  narrow  vulgar  span, 
And  live  beyond  the  life  of  man. 

Then  Nature's  charms  his  heart  possess'd, 
And  Nature's  glory  fill'd  his  breast : 
The  sweet  Spring-morning's  infant  rays, 
Meridian  Summer's  youthful  blaze, 
Maturer  Autumn'^  evening  mild, 
And  hoary  Winter's  midnight  wild, 
Awoke  his  eye,  inspired  his  tongue  ; 
For  every  scene  he  loved,  he  sung. 
Rude  were  his  song,  and  simple  truth, 
Till  Boyhood  blossom'd  into  Youth  : 
Then  nobler  themes  his  fancy  fired, 
To  bolder  flights  his  soul  aspired; 
And  as  the  new  moon's  opening  eye 
Broadens  and  brightens  through  the  sky, 
From  the  dim  streak  of  western  light 
To  the  full  orb  that  rules  the  night, — 
Thus,  gathering  lustre  in  its  race, 
And  shining  through  unbounded  space, 
From  earth  to  heaven  his  Genius  soar'd, 
Time  and  eternity  explored, 
And  hail'd,  where'er  its  footsteps  trod, 
In  Nature's  temple,  Nature's  God  ; 
Or  pierced  the  human  breast  to  scan 
The  hidden  majesty  of  Man ; 
Man's  hidden  weakness  too  descried, 
His  glory,  grandeur,  meanness,  pride : 
Pursued  along  their  erring  course 
The  streams  of  passion  to  their  source; 
Or  in  the  mind's  creation  sought 
New  stars  of  fancy,  worlds  of  thought. 
—  Yet    still    through    all    his    strains    would 

flow 
A  tone  of  uncomplaining  woe, 


Kind  as  the  tear  in  Pity's  eye, 
Soft  as  the  slumbering  Infant's  sigh, 
So  sweetly,  exquisitely  wild, 
It  spake  the  Muse  of  Sorrow's  child. 

0  Pillow  !  then,  when  light  withdrew, 
To  thee  the  fund  enthusiast  flew; 
On  thee,  in  pensive  mood  reclined, 
lie  pour'd  his  contemplative  mind, 
Till  o'er  his  eyes  with  mild  control 
Sleep,  like  a  soft  enchantment  stole, 
Charm'd  into  life  his  airy  schemes, 
And  realised  his  waking  dreams. 

Soon  from  those  waking  dreams  he  woke, 
The  fairy  spell  of  fancy  broke  ; 
In  vain  he  breathed  a  soul  of  fire 
Through  every  chord  that  strung  his  lyre. 
No  friendly  echo  cheer'd  his  tongue ; 
Amidst  the  wilderness  he  sung: 
Louder  and  bolder  bards  were  crown'd, 
Whose  dissonance  his  music  drown'd  : 
The  public  ear,  the  public  voice, 
Despised  his  song,  denied  his  choice, 
Denied  a  name, —  a  life  in  death, 
Denied  —  a  bubble  and  a  breath. 

Stript  of  his  fondest,  dearest  claim, 
And  disinherited  of  fame, 
To  thee,  0  Pillow  !  thee  alone, 
He  made  his  silent  anguish  known ; 
His  haughty  spirit  scorn'd  the  blow 
That  laid  his  high  ambition  low  ; 
But,  ah  !  his  looks  assumed  in  vain 
A  cold  ineffable  disdain, 
While  deep  he  cherish'd  in  his  breast 
The  scorpion  that  consumed  his  rest. 

Yet  other  secret  griefs  had  he, 
0  Pillow  !  only  told  to  thee  : 
Say,  did  not  hopeless  love  intrude 
On  his  poor  bosom's  solitude  ? 
Perhaps  on  thy  soft  lap  reclined, 
In  dreams  the  cruel  Fair  was  kind, 
That  more  intensely  he  might  know 
The  bitterness  of  waking  woe. 

Whate'er  those  pangs  from  me  conceal'd, 
To  thee  in  midnight  groans  reveal'd, 


',02 


VERSES  IX  MEMORY  OF  JOSEPH  BROWN  F. 


They  stung  remembrance  to  despair: 
"A  wounded  spirit  who  can  bear  !" 
Meanwhile  disease,  with  slow  decay, 
Moulder'd  his  feeble  frame  away ; 
And  as  his  evening  sun  declined, 
The  shadows  decpen'd  o'er  his  mind. 
What  doubts  and  terrors  then  possess'd 
The  dark  dominion  of  his  breast! 
How  did  delirious  fancy  dwell 
On  Madness,  Suicide,  and  Hell ! 
There  was  on  earth  no  Power  to  save : 

■ But,  as  he  shudder'd  o'er  the  grave, 

He  saw  from  realms  of  light  descend 
The  friend  of  him  who  has  no  friend, 
Religion!  —  Her  almighty  breath 
Rebuked  the  winds  and  waves  of  death  ; 
She  bade  the  storm  of  frenzy  cease, 
And  smiled  a  calm  and  whisper'd  peace  : 
Amidst  that  calm  of  sweet  repose, 
To  Heaven  his  gentle  Spirit  rose. 

1803. 


VERSES  TO  THE  MEMORY  OP  THE  LATE 

JOSEPH  BROWNE,  OF  LOTHERSDALE, 

ONE   OF   THE   PEOPLE   CALLED    QUAKERS, 

Who,  with  seven  others  of  his  religious  community,  had 
suffered  a  long  confinement  in  the  Castle  of  York,  and 
loss  of  all  his  worldly  property,  for  conscience  sake,  in 
the  years  1795  and  1796.  He  was  a  thoughtful,  humble- 
minded  man.  and  occasionally  solaced  himself  with-  Pri- 
son Amusements"  in  verse,  at  the  time  when  the  Author 
of  these  Stanzas,  in  a  neighbouring  room,  was  whiliug 
away  the  hours  of  a  shorter  captivity  in  the  same  man- 
ner. 

"Spirit,  leave  thine  house  of  clay; 
Lingering  Dust,  resign  thy  breath  ! 
Spirit,  east  thy  chains  away; 
Dust,  be  thou  dissolved  in  death  !" 

Thus  thy  Guardian  Angel  spoke, 
As  he  watch'd  thy  dying  bed; 
As  the  bonds  of  life  he  broke; 
And  the  ransom'd  captive  fled. 

"  Prisoner,  long  detain'd  below  : 
Prisoner,  now  with  freedom  blest ; 
Welcome  from  a  world  of  woe, 
Welcome  to  a  land  of  rest !  " 


Thus  thy  Guardian  Angel  sang, 
As  he  bore  thy  soul  on  high; 
While  with  Hallelujahs  rang 

All  the  region  of  the  sky. 

Ye  that  mourn  a  Father's  loss, 

Ye  that  weep  a  Friend  no  more, 
Call  to  mind  the  Christian  cross 
Which  your  Friend,  your  Father,  bore. 

Grief,  and  penury,  and  pain 

Still  attended  on  his  way  ; 

And  Oppression's  scourge  and  chain, 

More  unmerciful  than  they. 

Yet,  while  travelling  in  distress 
('Twas  the  eldest  curse  of  sin) 
Through  the  world's  waste  wilderness, 
He  had  Paradise  within. 

And  along  that  vale  of  tears 

Which  his  humble  footsteps  trod, 

Still  a  shining  path  appears 

Where  the  Mourner  walk'd  with  GOD. 

Till  his  Master,  from  above, 
When  the  promised  hour  was  come, 
Sent  the  chariot  of  his  love 
To  convey  the  Wanderer  home. 

Saw  ye  not  the  wheels  of  fire, 
And  the  steeds  that  cleft  the  wind : 
Saw  ye  not  his  soul  aspire, 
When  his  mantle  dropp'd  behind? 

Ye  who  caught  it  as  it  fell, 

Bind  that  mantle  round  your  breast; 

So  in  you  his  meekness  dwell, 

So  on  you  his  spirit  rest ! 

Yet,  rejoicing  in  his  lot, 

Still  shall  Memory  love  to  weep 

O'er  the  venerable  spot 

Where  his  dear  cold  relies  sleep. 

Grave  !  the  guardian  of  his  dust, 
Grave!  the  treasury  of  the  skies, 
Every  atom  of  thy  trust 
Rests  in  hope  again  to  rise. 


THE  THUNDER-STORM.                                                         303 

Hark  !  the  judgment-trumpet  calls  — 

God  op  Vengeance,  from  above 

"Soul,  rebuild  tliine  house  of  clay: 

While  thine  awful  bolts  are  hurl'd, 

Immortality  thy  walls, 

0  remember  thou  art  Love  ! 

And  Eternity  thy  day  !  " 

Spare  !  0  spare  a  guilty  world  ! 
Stay  Thy  flaming  wrath  awhile, 
See  Thy  bow  of  promise  smile. 

Welcome  in  the  eastern  cloud, 
Messenger  of  Mercy  still ; 

THE  THUNDER-STORM. 

0  for  Evening's  brownest  shade  ! 

Now,  ye  winds,  proclaim  aloud, 

Where  the  breezes  play  by  stealth 

"Peace  on  Earth,  to  Man  good-will." 

In  the  forest-cinctured  glade, 

Nature!  (Ion's  repenting  child, 

Round  the  hermitage  of  Health: 

See  thy  Parent  reconciled. 

While  the  noon-bright  mountains  blaze 

In  the  sun's  tormenting  rays. 

Hark  the  nightingale,  afar, 
Sweetly  sings  the  sun  to  rest, 

O'er  the  sick  and  sultry  plains, 

And  awakes  the  evening  star 

Through  the  dim  delirious  air, 

In  the  rosy-tinted  west : 

Agonising  silence  reigns, 

While  the  moon's  enchanting  eye, 

And  the  wanness  of  despair: 

Opens  Paradise  on  high. 

Nature  faints  with  fervent  heat, 

Ah  !  her  pulse  hath  ceased  to  beat. 

Cool  and  tranquil  is  the  night, 
Nature's  sore  afflictions  cease, 

Now,  in  deep  and  dreadful  gloom, 

For  the  storm,  that  spent  its  might, 

Clouds  on  clouds  portentous  spread, 

Was  a  covenant  of  peace; 

Black  as  if  the  day  of  doom 

Vengeance  drops  her  harmless  rod  ; 

Hung  o'er  Nature's  shrinking  head  : 

Mercy  is  the  POWER  OF  GOD. 

Lo  !  the  lightning  breaks  from  high, 

1805. 

God  is  coming  !  —  God  is  nigh  ! 
Hear  ye  not  his  chariot-wheels, 

As  the  mighty  thunder  rolls  ? 

Nature,  startled  Nature,  reels 
From  the  centre  to  the  poles : 

ODE  TO  THE  VOLUNTEERS  OF  BRITAIN, 

Tremble  !  —  Ocean,  Earth,  and  Sky, 

ON   THE    PROSPECT    OF    INVASION. 

Tremble  !  —  God  is  passing  by  ! 

0  for  the  death  of  those 

Darkness,  wild  with  horror,  forms 

Who  for  their  country  die, 

His  mysterious  hiding-place  : 

Sink  on  her  bosom  to  repose, 

Should  He,  from  his  ark  of  storms, 

And  triumph  where  they  lie ! 

Rend  the  veil,  and  show  his  face, 

At  the  judgment  of  his  eye 

How  beautiful  in  death 

All  the  universe  would  die. 

The  Warrior's  corse  appears, 
Embalm'd  by  fond  Affection's  breath, 

Brighter,  broader  lightnings  flash, 

And  bathed  in  Woman's  tears  ! 

Hail  and  rain  tempestuous  fall; 

Louder,  deeper  thunders  crash, 

Their  loveliest  native  earth 

Desolation  threatens  all ; 

Enshrines  the  fallen  brave  ; 

Struggling  Nature  gasps  for  breath 

In  their  dear  land  that  gave  them  birth 

1 

In  the  agony  of  death. 

They  find  their  tranquil  grave. 

304 


ODE  TO  THE  VOLUNTEERS  OF  BRITAIN. 


But  the  wild  waves  shall  sweep 

Si'ihit  ob  Vengeance!  rest: 

Britannia's  foes  away, 

Sweet  Mercy  cries,  "Forbear!" 

And  tbe  blue  monsters  of  the  deep 

She  clasps  the  vanquished  to  her  breast; 

Be  surfeited  with  prey.— 

You  will  not  pierce  them  there  ? 

No  !  —  they  have  'scaped  the  waves, 

Thus  vanish  Britain's  foes 

'Scaped  the  sea-monsters'  maws; 

From  her  consuming  eye; 

They  come  !  but  0  !  shall  Gallic  Slaves 

But  rich  be  the  reward  of  those 

Give  English  Freemen  laws?. 

Who  conquer, those  who  die. 

By  Alfred's  Spirit,  No  ! 

O'ershadowing  laurels  deck 

—  Ring,  ring  the  loud  alarms; 

The  living  Hero's  brows; 

Ye  drums,  awake  !  ye  clarions,  blow ! 

But  lovelier  wreaths  entwine  his  neck, 

Ye  heralds,  shout,  "  To  arms  !  " 

—  His  children  and  his  spouse. 

To  arms  our  heroes  by ; 
And  leading  on  their  lines, 
The  British  Banner  in  the  sky, 
The  star  of  conquest  shines. 

The  lowering  battle  forms 

Its  terrible  array ; 

Like  clashing  clouds  in  mountain-storms, 

That  thunder  on  their  way. 

The  rushing  armies  meet; 
And  while  they  pour  their  breath, 
The  strong  earth  shudders  at  their  feet, 
The  day  grows  dim  with  death. 

Ghosts  of  the  mighty  dead ! 

Your  children's  hearts  inspire; 
And  while  they  on  your  ashes  tread, 
Rekindle  all  your  fire. 

The  dead  to  life  return  ; 

Our  fathers'  spirits  rise  ; 

—  My  brethren,  in  your  breasts  they  burn, 

They  sparkle  in  your  eyes. 

Now  launch  upon  the  foe 
The  lightning  of  your  rage  ; 
Strike,  strike  the  assailing  giants  low, 
The  Titans  of  the  age. 

They  yield,  —  they  break,  —  they  fly ; 
The  victory  is  won  : 

Pursue  ! they  faint,  —  they  fall,  —  they  die  : 

0  stay  ! the  work  is  done. 


Exulting  o'er  his  lot, 

The  dangers  he  has  braved, 

He  clasps  the  dear  ones,  hails  the  cot, 

Which  his  own  valour  saved. 

Daughters  of  Albion  !  weep  : 

On  this  triumphant  plain 

Your  fathers,  husbands,  brethren  sleep, 

For  you  and  freedom  slain. 

0  gently  close  the  eye 
That  loved  to  look  on  you; 
0  seal  the  lip  whose  earliest  sigh, 
Whose  latest  breath,  was  true  : 

With  knots  of  sweetest  flowers, 

Their  winding-sheet  perfume; 

And  wash  their  wounds  with  true-love  showers, 

And  dress  them  for  the  tomb. 

For  beautiful  in  death 
The  Warrior's  corse  appears, 
Embalm'd  by  fond  Affection's  breath, 
And  bathed  in  Woman's  tears. 

Give  me  the  death  of  those 

Who  for  their  country  die  ; 

And  0 !  be  mine  like  their  repose, 

When  cold  and  low  they  lie! 

Their  loveliest  mother  Earth 
Enshrines  the  fallen  brave; 
In  her  sweet  lap  who  gave  them  birth 
They  find  their  tranquil  grave. 
1S04. 


HANNAH.— A  FIELD  FLOWER.                                                      305 

HANNAH. 

'T  was  on  the  merry  morn  of  May, 
To  Hannah's  cot  I  took  my  way : 

At  fond  sixteen  my  roving  heart 
Was  pierced  by  Love's  delightful  dart: 

My  eager  hopes  were  on  the  wing, 
Like  swallows  sporting  in  the  Spring. 

Keen  transport  throbb'd  through  every  vein, 
—  I  never  felt  so  sweet  a  pain  ! 

Then,  as  I  climb'd  the  mountains  o'er, 
I  lived  my  wooing  days  once  more; 

Where  circling  woods  embower'd  the  glade, 
I  met  the  dear  romantic  maid: 

And  fancy  sketch'd  my  married  lot, — 
My  wife,  my  children,  and  my  cot. 

I  stole  her  hand, —  it  shrunk, — but  no; 
I  would  not  let  my  captive  go. 

I  saw  the  village  steeple  rise, — 

My  soul  sprang,  sparkling,  in  my  eyes : 

With  all  the  fervency  of  youth, 

The  rural  bells  rang  sweet  and  clear  — 

While  passion  told  the  tale  of  truth, 
I  mark'd  my  Hannah's  downcast  eye  — 

My  fond  heart  listen'd  in  mine  ear. 

'T  was  kind,  but  beautifully  shy : 

I  reach'd  the  hamlet :  — all  was  gay ; 
I  love  a  rustic  holyday  ; 

Not  with  a  warmer,  purer  ray, 

The  Sun,  enamour'd,  woos  young  May  ; 

Nor  May,  with  softer  maiden  grace, 

I  met  a  wedding, — stepp'd  aside; 

It  pass'd, —  my  Hannah  was  the  bride. 

Turns  from  the  Sun  her  blushing  face. 

There  is  a  grief  that  cannot  feel  ; 

But,  swifter  than  the  frighted  dove, 
Fled  the  gay  morning  of  my  love; 
Ah  !  that  so  bright  a  morn,  so  soon, 

It  leaves  a  wound  that  will  not  heal; 

My  heart  grew  cold, —  it  felt  not  then  : 

When  shall  it  cease  to  feel  again  ? 
1801. 

Should  vanish  in  so  dark  a  noon. 

The  angel  of  Affliction  rose, 

And  in  his  grasp  a  thousand  woes; 

A  FIELD  FLOWER. 

He  pour'd  his  vial  on  my  head, 
And  all  the  heaven  of  rapture  fled. 

OX  FINDING  ONE  IN  FULL  BLOOM,  ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY, 
1S03. 

Yet,  in  the  glory  of  my  pride, 

There  is  a  flower,  a  little  flower, 

I  stood, —  and  all  his  wrath  defied; 

With  silver  crest  and  golden  eye, 

I  stood, — -though  whirlwinds  shook  my  brain, 

That  welcomes  every  changing  hour, 

And  lightnings  cleft  my  soul  in  twain. 

And  weathers  every  sky. 

I  shunn'd  my  nymph  ;  —  and  knew  not  why 

The  prouder  beauties  of  the  field 

I  durst  not  meet  her  gentle  eye  ; 

In  gay  but  quick  succession  shine, 

I  shunn'd  her,  for  I  could  not  bear 

Race  after  race  their  honours  yield, 

To  marry  her  to  my  despair. 

They  flourish  and  decline. 

Yet,  sick  at  heart  with  hope  delay'd, 

But  this  small  flower,  to  Nature  dear, 

Oft  the  dear  image  of  that  maid 

While  moons  and  stars  their  courses  run, 

Glanced,  like  the  rainbow,  o'er  my  mind, 

Wreathes  the  whole  circle  of  the  year, 

And  promised  happiness  behind. 

Companion  of  the  Sun. 

The  storm  blew  o'er,  and  in  my  breast 

It  smiles  upon  the  lap  of  May, 

The  halcyon  Peace  rebuilt  her  nest : 

To  sultry  August  spreads  its  charms, 

The  storm  blew  o'er,  and  clear  and  mild 

Lights  pale  October  on  his  way, 

The  sea  of  Youth  and  Pleasure  smiled. 
20 

And  twines  December's  arms. 

306 


THE  SNOW-DROP. 


The  purple  heath  and  golden  broom 
On  inoory  mountains  catch  the  gale, 
O'er  lawns  the  lily  sheds  perfume, 
The  violet  in  the  vale. 

But  this  bold  floweret  climbs  the  hill, 
Hides  in  the  forest,  haunts  the  glen, 
Plays  on  the  margin  of  the  rill, 
Peeps  round  the  fox's  den. 

"Within  the  garden's  cultured  round 
It  shares  the  sweet  carnation's  bed; 
And  blooms  on  consecrated  ground 
In  honour  of  the  dead. 

The  lambkin  crops  its  crimson  gem, 
The  wild-bee  murmurs  on  its  breast, 
The  blue-fly  bends  its  pensile  stem 
Light  o'er  the  sky-lark's  nest. 

'T  is  Flora's  page ; in  every  place, 

In  every  season  fresh  and  fair, 
It  opens  with  perennial  grace, 
And  blossoms  every  where. 

On  waste  and  woodland,  rock  and  plain, 
Its  humble  buds  unheeded  rise  ; 
The  Rose  has  but  a  summer-reign, 
The  DAISY  never  dies. 
1805. 


THE  SNOW-DROP. 

Winter,  retire, 

Thy  reign  is  past ! 

Hoary  Sire, 

Yield  the  sceptre  of  thy  sway, 

Sound  thy  trumpet  in  the  blast, 

And  call  thy  storms  away. 

Winter,  retire ; 

Wherefore  do  thy  wheels  delay  ? 

Mount  the  chariot  of  thine  ire, 

And  quit  the  realms  of  day ; 

On  thy  state 

Whirlwinds  wait ; 

And  blood-shot  meteors  lend  thee  light ; 

Hence  to  dreary  arctic  regions 

Summon  thy  terrific  legions; 

Hence  to  caves  of  northern  night 

Speed  thy  flight. 


Prom  halcyon  seas 

And  purer  skies, 

0  southern  breeze ! 

Awake,  arise: 

Breath  of  heaven,  benignly  blow, 

Melt  the  snow; 

Breath  of  heaven,  unchain  the  floods, 

Warm  the  woods, 

And  make  the  mountains  flow. 

Auspicious  to  the  Muse's  prayer, 

The  freshening  gale 

Embalms  the  vale, 

And  breathes  enchantment  through  the  air; 

On  its  wing 

Floats  the  Spring, 

With  glowing  eye,  and  golden  hair : 

Dark  before  her  Angel-form 

She  drives  the  demon  of  the  storm, 

Like  Gladness  chasing  Care. 

Winter's  gloomy  night  withdrawn, 
Lo  !  the  young  romantic  Hours 
Search  the  hill,  the  dale,  the  lawn, 
To  behold  the  SNOW-DROP  white 
Start  to  light, 

And  shine  in  Flora's  desert  bowers, 
Beneath  the  vernal  dawn, 
The  Morning  Star  of  Flowers. 

0  welcome  to  our  i.-:le, 

Thou  Messenger  of  Peace  ! 

At  whose  bewitching  smile 

The  embattled  tempests  cease  : 

Emblem  of  Innocence  and  Truth, 

First-born  of  Nature's  womb, 

When,  strong  in  renovated  youth, 

She  bursts  from  Winter's  tomb; 

Thy  parent's  eye  hath  shed 

A  precious  dew-drop  on  thine  head, 

Frail  as  a  mother's  tear 

Upon  her  infant's  face, 

When  ardent  hope  to  tender  fear 

And  anxious  love  gives  place. 

But  lo  !  the  dew-drop  flits  away, 

The  sun  salutes  thee  with  a  ray 

Warm  as  a  mother's  kiss 

Upon  her  infant's  check, 

When  the  heart  bounds  with  bliss 

And  joy  that  cannot  speak. 


THE    OCEAN. 


307 


When  I  met  thee  by  tho  way, 

Like  a  pretty  sportive  ebild, 
On  the  winter-wasted  wild, 
With  thy  darling  breeze  at  play, 
Opening  to  the  radiant  sky 
All  the  sweetness  of  thine  eye; 

—  Or  bright  with  sunbeams,  fresh  with  showers, 
0  thou  Fairy-Queen  of  flowers  ! 

Watch  thee  o'er  the  plain  advance 
At  the  head  of  Flora's  dance ; 
Simple  SNOW-DROP,  then  in  thee 
All  thy  sister-train  I  see  ; 
Every  brilliant  bud  that  blows, 
From  the  blue-bell  to  the  rose  : 
All  the  beauties  that  appear 
On  the  bosom  of  the  Year, 
All  that  wreathe  the  locks  of  Spring, 
Summer's  ardent  breath  perfume, 
Or  on  the  lap  of  Autumn  bloom, 

—  All  to  thee  their  tribute  bring, 
Exhale  their  incense  at  thy  shrine, 

—  Their  hues,  their  odours,  all  are  thine. 
For  while  thy  humble  form  I  view, 

The  Muse's  keen  prophetic  sight 

Brings  fair  Futurity  to  light, 

And  Fancy's  magic  makes  the  vision  true. 

—  There  is  a  Winter  in  my  soul, 
The  Winter  of  Despair  ; 

0  when  shall  Spring  its  rage  control  ? 

When  shall  the  SNOW-DROP  blossom  there? 

Cold  gleams  of  comfort  sometimes  dart 

A  dawn  of  glory  on  my  heart, 

But  quickly  pass  away  : 

Thus  Northern-lights  the  gloom  adorn, 

And  give  the  promise  of  a  morn 

That  never  turns  to  day  ! 

But,  hark  !  methinks  I  hear 

A  still  small  whisper  in  mine  ear; 
"  Rash  youth,  repent : 
Afflictions,  from  above, 
Are  angels  sent 
On  embassies  of  love. 
A  fiery  legion,  at  thy  birth, 
Of  chastening  woes  were  given, 
To  pluck  the  flowers  of  hope  from  earth. 
And  plant  them  high 
O'er  yonder  sky, 

Transform'd  to  stars, —  and  fix'd  in  heaven." 
1S05. 


THE  OCEAN. 

WRITTEN    AT  SCARBOROUGH,  IN  THE  SUMMER  OF  1S05. 

All  hail  to  the  ruins,1  the  rocks  and  the  shores  ! 

Thou  wide-rolling  Ocean,  all  hail ! 

Now  brilliant  with  sunbeams,  and  dimpled  with  oars, 

Now  dark  with  the  fresh-blowing  gale, 

While  soft  o'er  thy  bosom  the  cloud-shadows  sail, 

And  the  silver-wing'd  sea-fowl  on  high, 

Like  meteors  bespangle  the  sky, 

Or  dive  in  the  gulf,  or  triumphantly  ride 

Like  foam  on  the  surges,  the  swans  of  the  tide. 

From  the  tumult  and  smoke  of  the  city  set  free, 
With  eager  and  awful  delight, 
From  the  crest  of  the  mountain  I  gaze  upon  thee; 
I  gaze, —  and  am  changed  at  the  sight; 
For  mine  eye  is  illumined,  my  Genius  takes  flight, 
My  soul,  like  the  sun,  with  a  glance 
Embraces  the  boundless  expanse, 
And  moves  on  thy  waters,  wherever  they  roll, 
From  the  day-darting  zone  to  the  night-shadow'd 
pole. 

My  spirit  descends  where  the  day-spring  is  born, 

Where  the  billows  are  rubies  on  fire, 

And  the  breezes  that  rock  the  light  cradle  of  morn 

Are  sweet  as  the  Phoenix's  pyre  : 

0  regions  of  beauty,  of  love,  and  desire ! 

0  gardens  of  Eden  !  in  vain 

Placed  far  on  the  fathomless  main, 

Where  Nature  with  Innocence  dwelt  in  her  youth, 

When  pure  was  her  heart,  and  unbroken  her  truth. 

But  now  the  fair  rivers  of  Paradise  wind 
Through  countries  and  kingdoms  o'erthrown  ; 
Where  the  giant  of  Tyranny  crushes  mankind, 
Where  he  reigns, —  and  will  soon  reign  alone; 
For  wide,  and  more  wide,  o'er  the  sun-beaming  zone, 
He  stretches  his  hundred-fold  arms, 
Despoiling,  destroying  its  charms  ; 
Beneath  his  broad  footstep  the  Ganges  is  dry, 
And  the  mountains  recoil  from  the  flash  of  his  eye. 

Thus  the  pestilent  Upas,  the  Demon  of  trees, 
Its  boughs  o'er  the  wilderness  spreads, 

1  Searljoroiv'h  Castle. 


30s 


THE    OCEAN. 


And,  with  livid  contagion  polluting  the  breeze, 

Its  mildewing  influence  sheds: 

The  birds  on  the  wing,  and  the  flowers  in  their  beds, 

Are  slain  by  its  venomous  breath, 

That  darkens  the  noonday  with  death ; 

And  pale  ghosts  of  travellers  wander  around, 

While  their  mouldering  skeletons  whiten  the  ground. 

Ah  !  why  hath  Jehovah,  in  forming  the  world 

With  the  waters  divided  the  land, 

His  ramparts  of  rocks  round  the  continent  hurl'd, 

And  cradled  the  Deep  in  his  hand, 

If  man  may  transgress  His  eternal  command, 

And  leap  o'er  the  bounds  of  his  birth 

To  ravage  the  uttermost  earth, 

And  violate  nations  and  realms  that  should  be 

Distinct  as  the  billows,  yet  one  as  the  sea? 

There  are,  gloomy  Ocean  !  a  brotherless  clan 

Who  traverse  thy  banishing  waves, 

The  poor  disinherited  outcasts  of  man, 

Whom  Avarice  coins  into  slaves  : 

From  the  homes  of  their  kindred,  their  forefathers' 

graves, 
Love,  friendship,  and  conjugal  bliss, 
They  are  dragg'd  on  the  hoary  abyss  ; 
The  shark  hears  their  shrieks,  and,  ascending  to 

day, 
Demands  of  the  spoiler  his  share  of  the  prey. 

Then  joy  to  the  tempest  that  whelms  them  beneath, 

And  makes  their  destruction  its  sport ! 

But  woe  to  the  winds  that  propitiously  breathe, 

And  waft  them  in  safety  to  port, 

Where    the   vultures    and    vampires   of    Mammon 

resort ; 
Where  Europe  exultingly  drains 
The  life-blood  from  Africa's  veins; 
Where  man  rules  o'er  man  with  a  merciless  rod, 
And  spurns  at  his  footstool  the  image  of  God  ! 

The  hour  is  approaching, —  a  terrible  hour  ! 
Ami  Vengeance  is  bending  her  bow ; 
Already  the  clouds  of  the  hurricane  lour, 
And  the  rock-rending  whirlwinds  blow; 
Back  rolls  the  huge  Ocean,  Hell  opens  below  : 


1  Alluding  to  the  glorious  success  of  the  Moravian  Mis- 

iea  among  the  Negroes  in  the  West  In. lies. 
-  While  the  author  was   meditating   these  stanzas,  in 


The  floods  return  headlong, —  they  sweep 
The  slave-cultured  lands  to  the  deep; 
In  a  moment  entomb'd  in  a  horrible  void, 
By  their  Maker  Hiuuelf  in  his  anger  destroy'd! 

Shall  this  be  the  fate  of  the  cane-planted  isles, 
More  lovely  than  clouds  in  the  west, 
When  the  sun  o'er  the  ocean   descending  in  smiles 
Sinks  softly  and  sweetly  to  rest? 

—  NO  !  —  Father  of  mercy  !  befriend  the  opprest; 
At  the  voice  of  thy  Gospel  of  peace 

May  the  sorrows  of  Africa  cease; 

And  the  slave  and  bis  master  devoutly  unite 

To  walk  in  thy  freedom,  and  dwell  in  thy  light  I1 

As  homeward  my  weary-wing'd  fancy  extends 

Her  star-lighted  course  through  the  skies, 

High  over  the  mighty  Atlantic  ascends, 

And  turns  upon  Europe  her  eyes; 

Ah  me  !  what  new  prospects,  new  horrors,  arise  ! 

I  see  the  war-tempested  flood 

All  foaming  and  panting  with  blood  : 

The  panic-struck  Ocean  in  agony  roars, 

Rebounds  from  the  battle,  and  flies  to  his  shores : 

For  Britannia  is  wielding  the  trident  to-day, 
|  Consuming  her  foes  in  her  ire, 
|  And  hurling  the  thunder  of  absolute  sway 

From  her  wave-ruling  chariots  of  fire : 

—  She  triumphs: — the  winds  and  the  waters  con- 

spire 
To  spread  her  invincible  name  ; 

—  The  universe  rings  with  her  fame  ; 

— But  the  cries  of  the  fatherless  mix  with  her  praise, 
And  the  tears  of  the  widow  are  shed  on  her  bi 

0  Britain  !  dear  Britain  !  the  land  of  my  birth  ; 
0  Isle,  most  enchantingly  fair  ! 
Thou  Pearl  of  the  Ocean  !  Thou  Gem  of  the  Earth  ! 
0  my  Mother  !  my  Mother  !  beware ; 
For  wealth  is  a  phantom,  and  empire  a  snare : 
0  let  not  thy  birthright  be  sold 
For  reprobate  glory  and  gold  ! 
Thy  distant  dominions  like  wild  graftings  shoot, 
They  weigh  down  thy  trunk  —  they  will  tear  up  thy 
root :  — 


sight  of  the  ocean  from  the  northern  cliffs,  intelligence  ar- 
rived of  the  naval  victory  of  Sir  Robert  Culdcr,  over  the 
French  and  Spanish  fleets  off  the  western  coast  of  Spain. 


THE    COMMON    LOT. 


309 


The  root  of  thine  OAK,  0  my  country!  that  stands 

Rock-planted,  and  flourishing  free  : 

Its  branches  arc  stretch'd  o'er  the  uttermost  lands, 

And  its  shadow  eclipses  the  sea: 

The  blood  of  our  ancestors  nourish'd  the  tree ; 

From  their  tombs,  from  their  ashes,  it  sprung; 

Its  boughs  with  their  trophies  are  hung ; 

Their  spirit  dwells  in  it :  —  and,  hark !  for  it  spoke ; 

The  voice  of  our  fathers  ascends  from  their  Oak  ! 

"Ye  Britons,  who  dwell  where  wc  conquer'd  of  old, 

Who  inherit  our  battle-field  graves; 

Though  poor  were  your  fathers, — gigantic  and  bold. 

We  were  not,  we  could  not  be,  slaves; 

But,  firm  as  our  rocks,  and  as  free  as  our  waves, 

The  spears  of  the  Romans  we  broke, 

We  never  stoop'd  under  their  yoke ; 

In  the  shipwreck  of  nations  we  stood  up  alone, — 

The  world  was  great  Caesar's— but  Britain  our  own. 

"  For  ages  and  ages,  with  barbarous  foes, 

The  Saxon,  Norwegian,  and  Gaul,  [rose 

We  wrestled,  were  foil'd,  were  cast  down,  but  we 

With  new  vigour,  new  life,  from  each  fall; 

By  all    we    u-ere   conquer'd :  —  WE    CONQUER'D 

THEM  ALL  ! 
—  The  cruel,  the  cannibal  mind, 
We  soften'd,  subdued,  and  refined  : 
Bears,  wolves,  and  sea  monsters,  they  rush'd  from 

their  den  ; 
We  taught  them,  we  tamed  them,  we  turn'd  them 

to  men. 

"Love   led  the  wild   hordes   in   his    flower-woven 

hands, 
The  tenderest,  strongest  of  chains  : 
Love  married  our  hearts,  he  united  our  hands, 
And  mingled  the  blood  in  our  veins ; 
One   race   we    became:  —  on   the   mountains    and 

plains 
Where  the  wounds  of  our  country  were  closed, 
The  Ark  of  Religion  reposed, 
The  unquenchable  Altar  of  Liberty  blazed, 
And  the  Temple  of  Justice  in  Mercy  was  raised. 

"Ark,  Altar,  and  Temple,  we  left  with  our  breath, 

To  our  children,  a  sacred  bequest: 

0  guard  them,  0  keep  them,  in  life  and  in  death  ! 

So  the  shades  of  your  fathers  shall  rest, 

And  your  spirits  with  ours  be  in  Paradise  blest : 


—  Let  Ambition,  the  sin  of  the  brave, 
And  Avarice,  the  soul  of  a  slave, 
No  longer  seduce  your  affections  to  roam 
From  Liberty,  Justice,  Religion,  AT  HOME." 


THE  COMMON  LOT. 

A  Birthday  Meditation,  during  a  solitary  Winter  walk  of 
seven  miles,  between  a  village  in  Derbyshire  and  Shef- 
field, when  the  ground  was  covered  with  snow,  the  sky 
serene,  and  the  morning  air  intensely  pure. 

Once,  in  the  flight  of  ages  past, 

There  lived  a  man  :— and  WHO  was  HE  ?  — 

Mortal !  howe'er  thy  lot  be  cast, 

That  Man  resembled  Thee. 

Unknown  the  region  of  his  birth, 
The  land  in  which  he  died  unknown  : 
His  name  has  perish'd  from  the  earth  ; 
This  truth  survives  alone  :  — 

That  joy  and  grief,  and  hope  and  fear, 
Alternate  triumph'd  in  his  breast  ; 
His  bliss  and  woe, —  a  smile,  a  tear  !  — 
Oblivion  hides  the  rest. 

The  bounding  pulse,  the  languid  limb, 
The  changing  spirits'  rise  and  fall  ; 
We  know  that  these  were  felt  by  him, 
For  these  are  felt  by  all. 

He  suffer'd,  —  but  his  pangs  are  o'er  ; 
Enjoy'd  —  but  his  delights  are  fled  ; 
Had  friends,  —  his  friends  are  now  no  more  ; 
And  foes,  —  his  foes  are  dead. 

He  loved,  —  but  whom  he  loved,  the  grave 
Hath  lost  in  its  unconscious  womb  : 
0,  she  was  fair!  —  but  nought  could  save 
Her  beauty  from  the  tomb. 

He  saw  whatever  thou  hast  seen  ; 
Encounter'd  all  that  troubles  thee: 
He  was  —  whatever  thou  hast  been; 
He  is  —  what  thou  shalt  be. 


The  rolling  seasons,  clay  and  night, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  the  earth  and  main, 
Erewhile  his  portion,  life  and  light, 
To  him  exist  in  vain. 

The  clouds  and  sunbeams,  o'er  his  eye 
That  once  their  shades  and  glory  threw, 
Have  left  in  yonder  silent  sky 
Ko  vestige  where  they  flew. 

The  annals  of  the  human  race, 

Their  ruins  since  the  world  began, 

Of.  HIM  afford  no  other  trace 

Than  this,  — THERE  LIVED  A  MAN! 

Nov.  4, 1S05. 


THE  HARP  OF  SORROW. 

I  gave  my  Harp  to  Sorrow's  hand, 
And  she  has  ruled  the  chords  so  long, 

They  will  not  speak  at  my  command;  — 
They  warble  only  to  her  song. 

Of  dear  departed  hours, 

Too  fondly  loved  to  last, 
The  dew,  the  breath,  the  bloom  of  flowers, 

Snapt  in  their  freshness  by  the  blast : 

Of  long,  long  years  of  future  care, 
Till  lingering  Nature  yields  her  breath. 

And  endless  ages  of  despair, 

Beyond  the  judgment-day  of  death  :  — 

The  weeping  Minstrel  sings  ; 

And  while  her  numbers  flow, 
My  spirit  trembles  with  the  strings, 

Responsive  to  the  notes  of  woe. 

Would  gladness  move  a  sprightlier  strain, 
And  wake  this  wild  Harp'.-  clearest  tones, 

The  chords,  impatient  to  complain, 
Arc  dumb,  or  only  utter  moans. 

And  yet  to  soothe  the  mind 

With  luxury  of  grief, 
The  soul  to  suffering  all  resign'd 

In  Sorrow's  music  feels  relief. 


Thus  o'er  the  light  JEolian  lyre 

The  winds  of  dark  November  stray, 

Touch  the  quick  nerve  of  every  wire, 
And  on  its  magic  pulses  play  :  — 

Till  all  the  air  around, 

Mysterious  murmurs  fill, 
A  strange  bewildering  dream  of  sound, 

Most  heavenly  sweet,  —  yet  mournful  still. 

0!  snatch  the  Harp  from  Sorrow's  hand, 
Hope  !  who  bast  been  a  stranger  long; 

0  1  strike  it  with  sublime  command, 
And  be  the  Poet's  life  thy  song. 

Of  vanish'd  troubles  sing, 

Of  fears  for  ever  fled, 
Of  flowers  that  hear  the  voice  of  Spring, 

And  burst  and  blossom  from  the  dead ;  — 

Of  home,  contentment,  health,  repose, 
Serene  delights,  while  years  increase  ; 

And  weary  life's  triumphant  close 

In  some  calm  sunset  hour  of  peace ;  — 

Of  bliss  that  reigns  above, 

Celestial  May  of  Youth, 
Unchanging  as  Jehovah's  love, 

And  everlasting  as  his  truth  :  — 

Sing,  heavenly  Hope  !  — and  dart  thine  hand 
O'er  my  frail  Harp,  untuned  so  long; 

That  Harp  shall  breathe,  at  thy  command, 
Immortal  sweetness  through  thy  song. 

Ah  !  then,  this  gloom  control, 

And  at  thy  voice  shall  start 
A  new  creation  in  my  soul, 

A  native  Eden  in  my  heart. 
1807. 


POPE'S  WILLOW. 

Verses  written  for  an  Urn  made  out  of  the  trunk  of  the 
Weeping  Willow,  imported  from  the  East,  and  planted 

by  Pope  in  his  grounds  at  Twickenham,  where  it  flourish- 
ed many  years;  hut,  falling  into  decay,  it  was  lately  cut 
down. 

Ere  Pope  resign'd  his  tuneful  breath, 

And  made  the  turf  his  pillow, 
The  minstrel  hung  his  harp  in  death 

Upon  the  drooping  Willow ; 


POPE'S    WILLOW.                                                               311 

Tlut  Willow,  from  Euphrates'  strand 

In  vain  did  Spring  those  bowers  restore, 

Had  sprung  beneath  his  training  hand. 

Where  loves  and  graces  revell'd, 

Autumn's  wild  gales  the  branches  tore, 

Long  as  revolving  seasons  flew, 

The  thin  grey  leaves  dishevell'd, 

From  youth  to  age  it  flourish'd, 

And  every  wasting  Winter  found 

By  vernal  winds  and  starlight  dew, 

The  Willow  nearer  to  the  ground. 

By  showers  and  sunbeams,  nourish'd; 

And  while  in  dust  the  Poet  slept, 

Hoary,  and  weak,  and  bent  with  age, 

The  Willow  o'er  his  ashes  went. 

At  length  the  axe  assail'd  it; 

It  bow'd  before  the  woodman's  rage; 

Old  Time  beheld  its  silvery  head 

The  swans  of  Thames  bewail'd  it, 

With  graceful  grandeur  towering, 

With  softer  tones,  with  sweeter  breath, 

Its  pensile  boughs  profusely  spread, 

Than  ever  charm'd  the  ear  of  death. 

The  breezy  lawn  embowering, 

Till,  aroh'd  around,  there  seem'd  to  shoot 

0  Pope  !  hadst  thou,  whose  lyre  so  long 

A  grove  of  scions  from  one  root. 

The  wondering  world  enchanted, 

Amidst  thy  paradise  of  song 

Thither,  at  summer  noon,  he  view'd 

This  Weeping  Willow  planted  ; 

The  lovely  Nine  retreating, 

Among  thy  loftiest  laurels  seen, 

Beneath  its  twilight  solitude 

In  deathless  verse  for  ever  green, — 

With  songs  their  Poet  greeting, 

Whose  spirit  in  the  Willow  spoke, 

Thy  chosen  Tree  had  stood  sublime 

Like  Jove  from  dark  Dodona's  oak. 

The  storms  of  ages  braving, 

Triumphant  o'er  the  wrecks  of  Time 

By  harvest  moonlight  there  he  spied 

Its  verdant  banner  waving, 

The  fairy  bands  advancing; 

While  regal  pyramids  decay'd, 

Bright  Ariel's  troop,  on  Thames's  side, 

And  empires  perish'd  in  its  shade. 

Around  the  Willow  dancing; 

Gay  sylphs  among  the  foliage  play'd, 

An  humbler  lot,  0  Tree  !  was  thine, 

And  glow-worms  glitter'd  in  the  shade. 

—  Gone  down  in  all  thy  glory  ; 

The  sweet,  the  mournful  task  be  mine, 

One  morn,  while  Time  thus  mark'd  the  tree 

To  sing  thy  simple  story  : 

In  heauty  green  and  glorious, 

Though  verse  like  mine  in  vain  would  raise 

"The  hand,"  he  cried,  "that  planted  thee 

The  fame  of  thy  departed  days. 

O'er  mine  was  oft  victorious  ; 

Yet,  fallen  Willow  !  if  to  me 

Be  vengeance  now  my  calm  employ, — 

Such  power  of  song  were  given, 

One  work  of  Pope's  I  will  destroy." 

My  lips  should  breathe  a  soul  through  thee, 

lie  spake,  and  struck  a  silent  blow 

And  call  down  fire  from  heaven, 

With  that  dread  arm  whose  motion 

To  kindle  in  this  hallow'd  Urn 

Lays  cedars,  thrones,  and  temples  low, 

A  flame  that  would  for  ever  burn. 

.And  wields  o'er  land  and  ocean 

1806. 

The  unremitting  axe  of  doom, 
That  fells  the  forest  of  the  tomb. 

A  WALK  IN  SPRING. 

Deep  in  the  Willow's  root  it  went, 

And  cleft  the  core  asunder, 

I  wanper'd  in  a  lonely  glade, 

Like  sudden  secret  lightning,  sent 

Where,  issuing  from  the  forest  shade, 

Without  recording  thunder; 

A  little  mountain  stream 

—  From  that  sad  moment,  slow  away 

Along  the  winding  valley  play'd, 

Began  the  Willow  to  decay. 

Beneath  the  morning  beam. 

312 


A  WALK    IN    SPRING. 


Light  o'er  the  woods  of  dark-brown  oak 
The  west-wind  wreathed  the  hovering  smoke, 

From  cottage-roofs  conceal'd; 
Below  a  rock  abruptly  broke, 

In  rosy  light  reveal'd. 

'Twas  in  the  infancy  of  May, — 
The  uplands  glow'd  in  green  array, 

While  from  the  ranging  eye 
The  lessening  landscape  stretch'd  away, 

To  meet  the  bending  sky. 

'T  is  sweet  in  solitude  to  hear 
The  earliest  music  of  the  year, 

The  blackbird's  loud  wild  note, 
Or,  from  the  wintry  thicket  drear, 

The  thrush's  stammering  throat. 

In  rustic  solitude  'tis  sweet 

The  earliest  flowers  of  Spring  to  greet, — 

The  violet  from  its  tomb, 
The  strawberry,  creeping  at  our  feet, 

The  sorrel's  simple  bloom. 

Wherefore  I  love  the  walks  of  Spring, — 
While  still  I  hear  new  warblers  sing, 

Fresh-opening  bells  I  see; 
Joy  flits  on  every  roving  wing, 

Hope  buds  on  every  tree. 

That  morn  I  look'd  and  listen'd  long, 
Some  cheering  sight,  some  woodland  song. 

As  yet  unheard,  unseen, 
To  welcome,  with  remembrance  strong 

Of  days  that  once  had  been  ;  — 

When,  gathering  flowers,  an  eager  child, 
I  ran  abroad  with  rapture  wild ; 

Or,  on  more  curious  quest, 
Peep'd breathless  through  the  copse,  and  smiled, 

To  see  the  linnet's  nest. 


Already  had  I  watch'd  the  flight 

Of  swallows  darting  through  the  light, 

And  mock'd  the  cuckoo's  call ; 
Already  view'd,  o'er  meadows  bright, 

The  evening  rainbow  fall. 


Now  in  my  walk,  with  sweet  surprise, 
I  saw  the  first  Spring  cowslip  rise, 

The  plant  whose  pensile  flowers 
Bend  to  the  earth  their  beauteous  eyes, 

In  sunshine  as  in  showers. 


Lone  on  a  mossy  bank  it  grew, 
Whose  lichens,  purple,  white,  and  blue, 

Among  the  verdure  crept; 
Its  yellow  ringlets,  dropping  dew, 

The  breezes  lightly  swept. 

A  bee  had  nestled  on  its  blooms, 
He  shook  abroad  its  rich  perfumes, 

Then  fled  in  airy  rings  ; 
His  place  a  butterfly  assumes, 

Glancing  his  glorious  wings. 

0,  welcome,  as  a  friend  !  I  cried  ; 

A  friend  through  many  a  season  tried, 

Nor  ever  sought  in  vain, 
When  May,  with  Flora  at  her  side, 

Is  dancing  on  the  plain. 

Sure  as  the  Pleiades  adorn 
The  glittering  coronet  of  morn, 

In  calm  delicious  hours, 
Beneath  their  beams  thy  buds  are  born, 

'Midst  love-awakening  showers. 

Scatter'd  by  Nature's  graceful  hand, 
In  briary  glens  or  pasture-land, 

Thy  fairy  tribes  we  meet; 
Gay  in  the  milk-maid's  path  they  stand, 

They  kiss  her  tripping  feet. 

From  Winter's  farm-yard  bondage  freed 
The  cattle,  bounding  o'er  the  mead 

Where  green  the  herbage  grows, 
Among  thy  fragrant  blossoms  feed, 

Upon  thy  tufts  repose. 

Tossing  his  forelock  o'er  his  mane, 
The  foal,  at  rest  upon  the  plain, 

Sports  with  thy  flexile  stalk, 
But  stoops  his  little  neck  in  vain 

To  crop  it  in  his  walk. 


THE  SWISS  COWHERD'S  SONG. 


313 


Where  thick  thy  primrose  blossoms  play, 
Lovely  and  innocent  as  they, 

O'er  coppice  lawns  and  dells, 
In  bands  the  rural  children  stray, 

To  pluck  thy  nectar'd  bells ; 

Whose  simple  sweets,  with  curious  skill, 
The  frugal  cottage-dames  distil, 

Nor  envy  France  the  vine, 
While  many  a  festal  cup  they  fill 

With  Britain's  homely  wine. 

Unchanging  still  from  year  to  year, 
Like  stars  returning  in  their  sphere, 

With  undiminish'd  rays, 
Thy  vernal  constellations  cheer 

The  dawn  of  lengthening  days. 

Perhaps  from  Nature's  earliest  May, 
Imperishable  'midst  decay. 

Thy  self-renewing  race 
Have  breathed  their  balmy  lives  away 

In  this  neglected  place. 

And  0,  till  Nature's  final  doom, 
Here  unmolested  may  they  bloom, 

From  scythe  and  plough  secure  ; 
This  bank  their  cradle  and  their  tomb, 

While  earth  and  skies  endure ! 


Yet,  lowly  Cowslip,  while  in  thee 
An  old  unalter'd  friend  I  see, 

Fresh  in  perennial  prime; 
From  Spring  to  Spring  behold  in  me 

The  woes  and  waste  of  time. 

This  fading  eye  and  withering  mien 
Tell  what  a  sufferer  I  have  been, 

Since,  more  and  more  estranged, 
From  hope  to  hope,  from  scene  to  scene, 

Through  Folly's  wiles  I  ranged. 

Then  fields  and  woods  I  proudly  spurn'd  ; 
From  Nature's  maiden  love  I  turn'd, 

And  woo'd  the  enchantress  Art; 
Yet  while  for  her  my  fancy  burn'd, 

Cold  was  my  wretched  heart, — 


Till,  distanced  in  Ambition's  race, 
Weary  of  Pleasure's  joyless  chase, 

My  peace  untimely  slain, 
Sick  of  the  world, 1  turn'd  my  face 

To  fields  and  woods  again. 

'T  was  Spring;  —  my  former  haunts  I  found, 
My  favourite  flowers  adorn'd  the  ground  ; 

My  darling  minstrels  play'd; 
The  mountains  were  with  sunset  crown'd, 

The  valleys  dun  with  shade. 

With  lorn  delight  the  scene  I  view'd, 
Past  joys  and  sorrows  were  renew'd; 

My  infant  hopes  and  fears 
Look'd  lovely,  through  the  solitude 

Of  retrospective  years. 

And  still,  in  Memory's  twilight  bowers, 
The  spirits  of  departed  hours, 

With  mellowing  tints,  portray 
The  blossoms  of  life's  vernal  flowers 

For  ever  fall'n  away. 

Till  youth's  delirious  dream  is  o'er, 
Sanguine  with  hope,  we  look  before, 

The  future  good  to  find ; 
In  age,  when  error  charms  no  more, 

For  bliss  we  look  behind. 
1808. 


THE  SWISS  COWHERD'S  SONG 

IN   A    FOREIGN   LAND. 
IMITATED   FROM   THE  FRENCH. 

0,  when  shall  I  visit  the  land  of  my  birth, 
The  loveliest  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth  ? 
When  shall  I  those  scenes  of  affection  explore, 

Our  forests,  our  fountains, 

Our  hamlets,  our  mountains, 
With  the  pride  of  our  mountains,  the  maid  I  adore? 
0,  when  shall  I  dance  on  the  daisy-white  mead, 
In  the  shade  of  an  elm  to  the  sound  of  the  reed  ? 

■• 

When  shall  I  return  to  that  lowly  retreat, 

Where  all  my  fond  objects  of  tenderness  meet, — 


314 


THE  OAK.— THE  DIAL.— THE  ROSE? 


The  lambs  and  the  heifers,  that  follow  my  call, 

My   father,  my  mother. 

My  sister,  my  brother, 
And  dear  Isabella,  the  joy  of  them  all? 
0,  when  shall  I  visit  the  land  of  my  birth  ? 
— 'T  is  the  loveliest  land  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 


THE    OAK. 

IMITATED    FROM   THE   ITALIAN   OF   METASTASIS 

TriE  tall  oak,  towering  to  the  skies, 
The  fury  of  the  wind  defies, 
From  age  to  age  in  virtue  strong, 
Inured  to  stand,  and  suffer  wrong. 

O'erwhelm'd  at  length  upon  the  plain, 
It  puts  forth  wings,  and  sweeps  the  main : 
The  self-same  foe  undaunted  braves, 
And  fights  the  wind  upon  the  waves. 


THE    DIAL. 

This  shadow  on  the  Dial's  face, 

That  steals  from  day  to  day, 
With  slow,  unseen,  unceasing  pace, 

Moments,  and  months,  and  years  away  : 
This  shadow,  which,  in  every  clime, 

Since  light  and  motion  first  began, 
Hath  held  its  course  sublime; 

What  is  it  ? Mortal  Man  ! 

It  is  the  scythe  of  Time: 
— A  shadow  only  to  the  eye; 

Yet,  in  its  calm  career, 
It  levels  all  beneath  the  sky ; 

And  still,  through  each  succeeding  year, 
Right  onward  with  resistless  power, 
Its  stroke  shall  darken  every  hour, 
Till  Nature's  race  be  run, 
And  Time's  last  shadow  shall  eclipse  the  sun. 

Nor  only  o'er  the  Dial's  face, 

This  silent  phantom,  day  by  day, 

"With  slow,  unseen,  unceasing  pace, 

Steal  moments,  months,  and  years  away ; 


From  hoary  rock  and  aged  tree, 

From  proud  Palmyra's  mouldering  walls, 
From  Teneriffe,  towering  o'er  the  sea, 

From  every  blade  of  grass  it  falls  : 
For  still,  where'er  a  shadow  sweeps, 

The  scythe  of  Time  destroys, 
And  man  at  every  footstep  weeps 

O'er  evanescent  joys; 
Like  fiow'rets  glittering  with  the  dews  of  mom, 
Fair  for  a  moment,  then  for  ever  shorn : 
— Ah  !  soon,  beneath  the  inevitable  blow, 
I  too  shall  lie  in  dust  and  darkness  low. 

Then  Time,  the  Conqueror,  will  suspend 

His  scythe,  a  trophy  o'er  my  tomb, 
Whose  moving  shadow  shall  portend 

Each  frail  beholder's  doom : 
O'er  the  wide  earth's  illumined  space, 

Though  Time's  triumphant  flight  be  shown, 
The  truest  index  on  its  face 

Points  from  the  church-yard  stone. 
ISO". 


THE   ROSES. 

ADDRESSED    TO    A    FRIEND    OX   THE    BIRTH   OP   HIS 
FIRST    CHILD. 

Two  Roses  on  one  slender  spray 

In  sweet  communion  grew, 
Together  hail'd  the  morning  ray, 

And  drank  the  evening  dew  ; 
While,  sweetly  wreathed  in  mossy  green, 
There  sprang  a  little  bud  between. 

Through  clouds  and  sunshine,  storms  and  showers, 

They  open'd  iuto  bloom, 
Mingling  their  foliage  and  their  flowers, 

Their  beauty  and  perfume: 
While,  foster'd  on  its  rising  stem, 
The  bud  became  a  purple  gem. 

But  soon  their  summer  splendour  pass'd, 

They  faded  in  the  wind  : 
Yet  were  these  Roses  to  the  last 

The  loveliest  of  their  kind, 
Whose  crimson  leaves,  in  falling  round, 
Adorn'd  and  sanctified  the  ground. 


TO  AGNES.  — THE  OLD  MAN'S  SONG.                                               315 

When  thus  were  all  their  honours  shorn, 

Start  not ;  — old  age  is  Virtue's  prime  ; 

The  bud  unfolding  rose, 

Most  lovely  she  appears, 

And  blush*d  and  brighten 'd  as  the  morn 

Clad  in  the  spoils  of  vanquish'd  Time, 

From  dawn  to  sunrise  glows, 

Down  in  the  vale  of  years. 

Till  o'er  each  parent's  drooping  bead 

The  daughter's  crowning  glory  spread. 

Beyond  that  vale,  in  boundless  bloom, 

The  eternal  mountains  rise ; 

My  Friends  !  in  youth's  romantic  prime, 

Virtue  descends  not  to  the  tomb, 

The  golden  age  of  man, 

Her  rest  is  in  the  skies. 

Like  these  twin  Roses  spend  your  time, — 

1804. 

Life's  little,  lessening  span  ; 

Then  be  your  breasts  as  free  from  cares, 
Tour  hours  as  innocent,  as  theirs. 

And  in  the  infant  bud  that  blows 

AN  EPITAPH. 

In  your  encircling  arms, 
Mark  the  dear  promise  of  a  Rose, 

The  pledge  of  future  charms, 
That  o'er  your  withering  hours  shall  shine, 
Fair,  and  more  fair,  as  you  decline;  — 

Art  thou  a  man  of  honest  mould, 

With  fervent  heart,  and  soul  sincere? 

A  husband,  father,  friend?  —  Behold, 
Thy  brother  slumbers  here. 

Till  planted  in  that  realm  of  rest 
Where  Roses  never  die, 

Amidst  the  gardens  of  the  Blest, 
Beneath  a  stormless  sky, 

The  sun  that  wakes  yon  violet's  bloom, 
Once  cheer'd  his  eye,  now  dark  in  death  : 

The  wind  that  wanders  o'er  his  tomb 
Was  once  his  vital  breath. 

You  flower  afresh,  like  Aaron's  rod, 

That  blossom'd  at  the  sight  of  God. 

The  roving  wind  shall  pass  away, 
The  warming  sun  forsake  the  sky; 

180S. 

Thy  brother,  in  that  dreadful  day, 

Shall  live  and  never  die. 

TO  AGNES. 

REPLY   TO    SOME    LINES,    BEGINNING,  "ARREST,    0 

TIME!    TIIV    FLEETING    COURSE.'' 

THE  OLD  MAN'S  SONG. 

Time  will  not  check  his  eager  flight, 

Shall  Man  of  frail  fruition  boast  ? 

Though  gentle  Agnes  scold, 

Shall  life  be  counted  dear, 

For  'tis  the  Sage's  dear  delight 

Oft  but  a  moment,  and  at  most 

To  make  young  ladies  old. 

A  momentary  year  1 

Then  listen,  Agnes,  friendship  sings; 

There  was  a  time,  —  that  time  is  past,— 

Seize  fast  his  forelock  grey, 

When,  youth  !  I  bloom'd  like  thee  ! 

And  pluck  from  his  careering  wings 

A  time  will  come, —  'tis  coming  fast, — 

A  feather  every  day. 

When  thou  shalt  fade  like  me  :  — 

Adorn'd  with  these,  defy  his  rage, 
And  bid  him  plough  your  face, 

For  every  furrow  of  old  age 
Shall  be  a  line  of  grace. 

Like  me  through  varying  seasons  range, 
And  past  enjoyments  mourn;  — 

The  fairest,  sweetest  Spring  shall  change 
To  Winter  in  its  turn. 

31G                                         THE  GLOW-WORM. - 

-BOLEIIILL  TREES. 

In  infancy,  my  vernal  prime, 

Unhappy  he  whose  hopeless  eye 

When  life  itself  was  new, 

Turns  to  the  light  of  love  in  vain ; 

Amusement  pluck'd  the  wings  of  Time, 

Whose  <>ynosure  is  in  the  sky, 

Yet  swifter  still  he  flew. 

He  on  the  dark  and  lonely  main. 

1S04. 

Summer  my  youth  succeeded  soon, 
My  sun  ascended  high, 

And  pleasure  held  the  reins  till  noon, 

But  grief  drove  down  the  sky. 

BOLEHILL  TREES. 

Like  Autumn,  rich  in  ripening  corn, 

A  conspicuous  plantation,  encompassing  a  school-house 

Came  manhood's  sober  reign  ; 

and  play-ground,   on   a  bleak  eminence,  at  Barlow,  in 

Derbyshire:  on  the  one  hand  facing  the  high  moors;  on 

My  harvest-moon  scarce  fill'd  her  horn, 

the  other,  overlooking  a  richly-cultivated,  well-wooded, 

M'hen  she  began  to  wane. 

and  mountainous  country,  near  the  scat  of  a  gentleman 

where  the  writer  has  spent  many  happy  hours. 

Close  follow'd  age,  infirm  old  age, 

The  Winter  of  my  year  ; 

Now  peace  to  his  ashes  who  planted  yon  trees, 

When  shall  I  fall  before  his  rage, 

That  welcome  my  wandering  eye  ! 

To  rise  beyond  the  sphere  ! 

In  lofty  luxuriance  they  wave  with  the  breeze, 

And  resemble  a  grove  in  the  sky; 

I  long  to  cast  the  chains  away 

On  the  brow  of  the  mountain,  uncultured  and  bleak, 

That  hold  my  soul  a  slave, 

They  flourish  in  grandeur  sublime, 

To  burst  these  dungeon-walls  of  clay, 

Adorning  its  bald  and  majestical  peak, 

Enfranchised  from  the  grave. 

Like  the  lock  on  the  forehead  of  Time. 

Life  lies  in  embryo, — -never  free 

A  land-mark  they  rise;  —  to  the  stranger  forlorn, 

Till  Nature  yields  her  breath, 

All  night  on  the  wild  heath  delay'd, 

Till  Time  becomes  Eternity, 

'Tis  rapture  to  spy  the  young  beauties  of  morn 

And  Man  is  born  in  Death. 

Unveiling  behind  their  dark  shade  : 

1804. 

The  homeward-bound  husbandman  joys  to  behold, 

On  the  line  of  the  grey  evening  scene, 

Their  branches  yet  gleaming  with  purple  and  gold, 

TIIE  GLOW-WORM. 

And  the  sunset  expiring  between. 

The  male  of  this  iuseot  is  said  to  be  n  fly,  which  the  female 

The  maidens  that  gather  the  fruits  of  the  moor,1 

caterpillar  attracts  in  the  night  by  the  lustre  of  her  train. 

While  weary  and  fainting  they  roam, 

Through  the  blue  dazzling  distance  of  noon-light 

Wiien  Evening  closes  Nature's  eye, 

explore 

The  Glow-worm  lights  her  little  spark, 

The  trees  that  remind  them  of  home : 

To  captivate  her  favourite  fly, 

The  children  that  range  in  the  valley  suspend 

And  tempt  the  rover  through  the  dark. 

Their  sports,  and  in  ecstasy  gaze, 

When  they  see  the  broad  moon  from  the  summit 

Conducted  by  a  sweeter  star 

ascend, 

Than  all  that  deck  the  fields  above, 

And  their  school-house  and  grove  in  a  blaze. 

He  fondly  hastens  from  afar, 

To  soothe  her  solitude  with  love. 

0  sweet  to  my  soul  is  that  beautiful  grove, 

Awakening  remembrance  most  dear;  — 

Thus  in  this  wilderness  of  tears, 

When  lonely  in  anguish  and  exile  I  rove, 

Amidst  the  world's  perplexing  gloom, 

Wherever  its  glories  appear. 

The  transient  torch  of  Hymen  cheers 
The  pilgrim  journeying  to  the  tomb. 

1  Bilberries,  cluster-berries,  and  crane-berries. 

THE    MOLE -II  ILL.                                                              317 

It  gladdens  my  spirit,  it  soothes  from  afar 

The  mole  that  scoops  with  curious  toil 

With  tranquil  and  tender  delight, 

Her  subterranean  bed, 

It  shines  through  my  heart,  like  a  hope-beauiing  star 

Thinks  not  she  ploughs  a  human  soil, 

Alone  in  the  desert  of  night. 

And  mines  among  the  dead. 

It  tells  me  of  moments  of  innocent  bliss, 

For  ever  and  ever  gone  o'er; 
Like  the  light  of  a  smile,  like  the  balm  of  a  kiss, 

They  were, —  but  they  will  be  no  more  : 
Yet  wherefore  of  pleasures  departed  complain, 

But,  0  !  where'er  she  turns  the  ground, 

My  kindred  earth  I  see  : 
Once  every  atom  of  this  mound 

Lived,  breathed,  and  felt,  like  me. 

That  leave  such  endearment  behind  ? 
Though  the  sun  of  their  sweetness  be  sunk  in  the 

Like  me  these  elder-born  of  clay 
Enjoy'd  the  cheerful  light, 

main, 
Their  twilight  still  rests  on  the  mind. 

Bore  the  brief  burden  of  a  day, 
And  went  to  rest  at  night. 

Then  peace  to  his  ashes  who  planted  those  trees! 

Supreme  o'er  the  landscape  they  rise, 
With  simple  and  lovely  magnificence  please 

All  bosoms,  and  gladden  all  eyes  : 
Nor  marble  nor  brass  could  emblazon  his  fame 

Far  in  the  regions  of  the  morn, 
The  rising  sun  surveys 

Palmyra's  palaces  forlorn, 
Empurpled  with  his  rays. 

Like  his  own  sylvan  trophies,  that  wave 
In  graceful  memorial,  and  whisper  his  name, 
And  scatter  their  leaves  on  his  grave. 

The  spirits  of  the  desert  dwell 

Where  eastern  grandeur  shone, 
And  vultures  scream,  hyaenas  yell 

Ah  .'  thus,  when  I  sleep  in  the  desolate  tomb, 

Round  Beauty's  mouldering  throne. 

May  the  laurels  I  planted  endure, 
On  the  mountain  of  high  immortality  bloom, 

'Midst  lightning  and  tempest  secure  ! 
Then  ages  unborn  shall  their  verdure  admire, 

And  nations  sit  under  their  shade, 

There  the  pale  pilgrim,  as  he  stands, 
Sees,  from  the  broken  wall, 

The  shadow  tottering  on  the  sands, 
Ere  the  loose  fragment  fall. 

While  my  spirit,  in  secret,  shall  move  o'er  my  lyre, 
Aloft  in  their  branches  display'd. 

Destruction  joys,  amid  those  scenes, 
To  watch  the  sport  of  Fate, 

Hence  dream  of  vain  glory! — the  light  drop  of  dew 
That  glows  in  the  violet's  eye, 

While  Time  between  the  pillars  leans, 
And  bows  them  with  his  weight. 

In  the  splendour  of  morn,  to  a  fugitive  view, 

May  rival  a  star  of  the  sky  ; 

But  towers  and  temples,  erush'd  by  Time, 

But  the  violet  is  pluck'd,  and  the  dew-drop  is  flown, 

Stupendous  wrecks  !  appear 

The  star  uncxtinguish'd  shall  shine: 

To  me  less  mournfully  sublime 

Then  mine  be  the  laurels  of  virtue  alone, 

Than  the  poor  Mole-hill  here. 

And  the  glories  of  Paradise  mine. 

1807. 

Through  all  this  hillock's  crumbling  mould 

Once  the  warm  life-hlood  ran  : 
Here  thine  original  behold, 

THE  MOLE-HILL. 

And  here  thy  ruins,  Man  ! 

Tell  me,  thou  dust  beneath  my  feet, 

Methinks  this  dust  yet  heaves  with  breath  ; 

Thou  dust  that  once  hadst  breath  ! 

Ten  thousand  pulses  beat : 

Tell  me  how  many  mortals  meet 

Tell  me, —  in  this  small  hill  of  death, 

In  this  small  hill  of  death? 

How  many  mortals  meet 

■  is 


THE    MOLE-HILL. 


By  wafting  winds  and  flooding  rains, 

From  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 
Collected  here,  the  frail  remains 

Of  slumbering  millions  lie. 

What  scene  of  terror  and  amaze 
Breaks  through  the  twilight  gloom? 

What  hand  invisible  displays 
The  secrets  of  the  tomb  ? 

All  ages  and  all  nations  rise, 

And  every  grain  of  earth 
Beneath  my  feet,  before  mine  eyes, 

Is  startled  into  birth. 

Like  gliding  mists  the  shadowy  forms 
Through  the  deep  valley  spread, 

And  like  descending  clouds  in  storms 
Lower  round  the  mountain's  head. 

O'er  the  wild  champaign  while  they  pass, 
Their  footsteps  yield  no  sound, 

Nor  shake  from  the  light  trembling  grass 
A  dew-drop  to  the  ground. 

Among  the  undistinguish'd  hosts, 

My  wondering  eyes  explore 
Awful,  sublime,  terrific  ghosts, 

Heroes  and  kings  of  yore :  — 

Tyrants,  the  comets  of  their  kind, 
Whose  withering  influence  ran 

Through  all  the  promise  of  the  mind, 
And  smote  and  mildew'd  man  :• — 

Sages,  the  Pleiades  of  earth, 
Whose  genial  aspects  smiled, 

And  flowers  and  fruitage  sprang  to  birth 
O'er  all  the  human  wild. 

Yon  gloomy  ruffian,  gash'd  and  gored, 

AVas  he,  whose  fatal  skill 
First  beat  the  plough-share  to  a  sword, 

And  taught  the  art  to  kill. 

Behind  him  skulks  a  shade,  bereft 

Of  fondly  WOrshipp'd  fame; 
He  built  the  Pyramids,  but  left 

No  stone  to  tell  his  name. 


Who  is  the  chief,  with  visage  dark 

As  tempests  when  they  roar? 
— The  first  who  push'd  his  daring  bark 

Beyond  the  timid  shore. 

Through  storms  of  death  and  seas  of  graves 

He  steer'd  with  steadfast  eye  ; 
His  path  was  on  the  desert  waves, 

His  compass  in  the  sky. 

That  youth  who  lifts  his  graceful  hand, 

Struck  the  unshapen  block, 
And  beauty  leap'd,  at  his  command, 

A  Venus  from  the  rock. 

Trembling  with  ecstasy  of  thought, 

Behold  the  Grecian  maid, 
Whom  love's  enchanting  impulse  taught 

To  trace  a  slumbcrer's  shade. 

Sweet  are  the  thefts  of  love:  —  she  stole 

His  image  while  he  lay, 
Kindled  the  shadow  to  a  soul, 

And  breathed  that  soul  through  clay. 

Yon  listening  nymph,  who  looks  behind, 

With  countenance  of  fire, 
Heard  midnight  music  in  the  wind, — 

And  framed  the  ^Eolian  lyre. 

All  hail !  — The  Sire  of  Song  appears 

The  Muse's  eldest  born  ; 
The  skylark  in  the  dawn  of  years, 

The  poet  of  the  mom. 

He  from  the  depth  of  cavern'd  woods, 

That  echoed  to  his  voice, 
Bade  mountains,  valleys,  winds,  and  floods, 

And  earth  and  heaven,  rejoice. 

Though,  charm'd  to  meekness  while  he  sung, 
The  wild  beasts  round  him  ran, 

This  was  the  triumph  of  his  tongue, — 
It  tamed  the  heart  of  num. 

Dim  through  the  mist  of  twilight  times 

The  ghost  of  Cyrus  walks; 
Behind  him,  red  with  glorious  crimes, 

The  son  of  Amnion  stalks. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  FEMALE  CORRESPONDENT. 


319 


Relentless  Hannibal,  in  pride 
Of  sworn  fix'd  hatred,  lowers ; 

Cesar, — 'tis  Brutus  at  bis  side, — 
In  peerless  grandeur  towers. 

With  moonlight  softness  Helen's  charms 
Dissolved  the  spectred  gloom, 

The  leading  star  of  Greece  in  arms, 
Portending  Ilion's  doom. 

But  Homer;  —  see  the  bard  arise  ! 

And  hark  !  —  he  strikes  the  lyre; 
The  Dardan  warriors  lift  their  eyes, 

The  Argive  Chiefs  respire. 

And  while  his  music  rolls  along, 

The  towers  of  Troy  sublime, 
Raised  by  the  magic  breath  of  song, 

Mock  the  destroyer  Time. 

For  still  around  the  eternal  walls 

The  storms  of  battle  rage : 
And  Hector  conquers,  Hector  falls, 

Bewept  in  every  age. 

Genius  of  Homer  !  Were  it  mine 

To  track  thy  fiery  car, 
And  in  thy  sunset  course  to  shine 

A  radiant  evening  star, — 

What  theme,  what  laurel,  might  the  Muse 

Reclaim  from  ages  fled  ? 
What  realm-restoring  hero  choose 

To  summon  from  the  dead  ? 

Yonder  his  shadow  flits  away  : 
—  Thou  shalt  not  thus  depart  ; 

Stay,  thou  transcendent  spirit,  stay, 
And  tell  me  who  thou  art ! 

'Tis  Alfred!  — in  the  rolls  of  Fame, 

And  on  a  midnight  page, 
Blazes  his  broad  refulgent  name, 

The  watch-light  of  his  age. 

A  Danish  winter,  from  the  north, 

Howl'd  o'er  the  British  wild, 
But  Alfred,  like  the  spring,  brake  forth, 

And  all  the  desert  smiled. 


Back  to  the  deep  he  roll'd  the  waves, 

By  mad  invasion  hurl'd  ; 
His  voice  was  liberty  to  slaves, 

Deliance  to  the  world. 

And  still  that  voice  o'er  land  and  sea 

Shall  Albion's  foes  appal; 
The  race  of  Alfred  will  be  free; 

Hear  it,  and  tremble,  Gaul ! 

But  lo  !  the  phantoms  fade  in  flight, 
Like  fears  that  cross  the  mind, 

Like  meteors  gleaming  through  the  night, 
Like  thunders  on  the  wind. 

The  vision  of  the  tomb  is  past; 

Beyond  it  who  can  tell 
In  what  mysterious  region  cast 

Immortal  spirits  dwell? 

I  know  not, —  but  I  soon  shall  know, 
When  life's  sore  conflicts  cease, 

When  this  desponding  heart  lies  low, 
And  I  shall  rest  in  peace. 

For  see,  on  Death's  bewildering  wave, 

The  rainbow  Hope  arise, 
A  bridge  of  glory  o'er  the  grave, 

That  bends  beyond  the  skies. 

From  earth  to  heaven  it  swells  and  shines, 

The  pledge  of  bliss  to  Man  ; 
Time  with  Eternity  combines, 

And  grasps  them  in  a  span. 
1S07. 


M.  S. 


TO  THE  MEMORY 


"  A   FEMALE    WHOM     SICKNESS     HAD    RECONCILED    TO 
THE    NOTES    OF   SORROW," 

Who  corresponded  with  the  Author  under  this  signature, 
on  the  first  publication  of  his  Poems,  in  1S06,  but  died 
soon  after ;  when  her  real  name  and  merits  were  disclosed 
to  him  by  one  of  her  surviving  friends. 

My  Song  of  Sorrow  reach'd  her  ear; 
She  raised  her  languid  head  to  hear, 
And,  smiling  in  the  arms  of  Death, 
Consoled  me  with  her  latest  breath. 


320                              TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  A  FEMALE  CORRESPONDENT. 

What  is  the  Poet's  highest  aim, 

Then  though  the  proud  despised  my  strain, 

His  richest  heritage  of  lame  ? 

It  flow'd  not  from  my  heart  in  vain  ; 

—  To  track  the  warrior's  fiery  road, 

The  lay  of  freedom,  fervour,  truth, 

With  havoc,  spoil,  destruction,  strow'd, 

Was  dear  to  undissembling  youth, 

"While  nations  bleed  along  the  plains, 

From  manly  breasts  drew  generous  sighs, 

Dragg'd  at  his  chariot-wheels  in  chains? 

And  Virtue's  tears  from  Beauty's  eyes. 

—  With  fawning  hand  to  woo  the  lyre, 

Profanely  steal  celestial  fire, 

My  Song  of  Sorrow  reach'd  HER  car; 

And  bid  an  idol's  altar  blaze 

She  raised  her  languid  head  to  hear, 

With  incense  of  unhallow'd  praise? 

And,  smiling  in  the  arms  of  Death, 

—  AVith  syren  strains,  Circeau  art, 

She  blest  me  with  her  latest  breath. 

To  win  the  ear,  beguile  the  heart, 

Wake  the  wild  passions  into  rage, 

A  secret  hand  to  me  convcy'd 

And  please  and  prostitute  the  age  ? 

The  thoughts  of  that  inspiring  Maid; 

They  came  like  voices  on  the  wind, 

NO  ! —  to  the  generous  Bard  belong 

Heard  in  the  stillness  of  the  mind, 

Diviner  themes  and  purer  song: 

When  round  the  Poet's  twilight  walk 

■ —  To  hail  Religion  from  above, 

Aerial  beings  seem  to  talk : 

Descending  in  the  form  of  Love, 

Not  the  twin-stars  of  Leda  shine 

And  pointing  through  a  world  of  strife 

With  vernal  influence  more  benign, 

The  narrow  way  that  leads  to  life : 

Nor  sweeter,  in  the  sylvan  vale, 

—  To  pour  the  balm  of  heavenly  rest 

Sings  the  lone  warbling  nightingale, 

Through  Sorrow's  agonising  breast; 

Than  through  my  shades  her  lustre  broke, 

With  Pity's  tender  anus  embrace 

Than  to  my  griefs  her  spirit  spoke. 

The  orphans  of  a  kindred  race; 

And  in  one  zone  of  concord  bind 

My  fancy  form'd  her  young  and  fair, 

The  lawless  spoilers  of  mankind: 

Pure  as  her  sister-lilies  were, 

—  To  sing  in  numbers  boldly  free 

Adorn'd  with  meekest  maiden  grace, 

The  wars  and  woes  of  Liberty ; 

With  every  charm  of  soul  and  face, 

The  glory  of  her  triumphs  tell, 

That  Virtue's  awful  eye  approves, 

Her  nobler  suffering  when  she  fell,1 

And  fond  Affection  dearly  loves ; 

Girt  with  the  phalanx  of  the  brave, 

Heaven  in  her  open  aspect  seen, 

Or  widow'd  on  the  patriot's  grave, 

Her  Maker's  image  in  her  mien. 

Which  tyrants  tremble  to  pass  by, 

Even  on  the  car  of  Victory. 

Such  was  the  picture  fancy  drew, 

In  lineaments  divinely  true; 

These  arc  the  Bard's  sublimest  views, 

The  Muse,  by  her  mysterious  art, 

The  angel-visions  of  the  Muse, 

Had  shown  her  likeness  to  my  heart, 

That  o'er  his  morning  slumbers  shine; 

And  every  faithful  feature  brought 

These  are  his  themes, —  and  these  were  mine. 

But  pale  Despondency,  that  stole 

O'er  the  clear  mirror  of  my  thought. 

—  But  she  was  waning  to  the  tomb; 

The  light  of  gladness  from  my  soul, 

While  youth  and  folly  blindfold  ran 

The  worm  of  death  was  in  her  bloom: 

Yet.  as  the  mortal  frame  declined, 

The  giddy  circle  up  to  Man, 

Breathed  a  dark  spirit  through  my  lyre, 

Strong  through  the  ruins  rose  the  mind ; 

Dimni'd  the  noon-radiance  of  my  fire, 

A*  the  dim  moon  when  night  ascends, 

Slow  in  the  east  the  darkness  rends, 

And  cast  a  mournful  evening  hue 

O'er  every  scene  my  fancy  drew. 

Through  melting  clouds,  by  gradual  gleams, 

Pours  the  mild  splendour  of  her  beams, 
Then  bursts  in  triumph  o'er  the  pole, 

'  "Piu  ral  iTognj  vittoria  on  bel  sofTrire." 

• 

GaETA.NA    I'ASSERIM. 

Free  as  a  disembodied  soul  ! 

THE  PEAK  MOUNTAIN*. 


321 


Thus,  while  the  veil  of  flesh  decay 'd, 

Warbling  to  thy  Mysterious  voice ; 

Her  beauties  brighteu'd  through  the  shade; 

Bid  my  desponding  powers  rejoice  ; 

Charms  which  her  lowly  heart  conceal'd, 

And  I  will  listen  to  thy  lay, 

In  nature's  weakness  were  reveal'd; 

Till  night  and  sorrow  flee  away, 

And  still  the  uurobing  spirit  cast 

Till  gladness  o'er  my  bosom  rise, 

Diviner  glories  to  the  last, 

And  morning  kindle  round  the  skies. 

Dissolved  its  bonds,  and  clear'd  its  flight, 

Emerging  into  perfect  light. 

If  thus  to  me,  sweet  saint,  be  given 

To  learn  from  thee  the  hymns  of  heaven, 

Yet  shall  the  friends  who  loved  her  weep, 

Thine  iuspiration  will  impart 

Though  shrined  in  peace  the  sufferer  sleep, 

Seraphic  ardours  to  my  heart ; 

Though  rapt  to  heaven  the  saint  aspire, 

My  voice  thy  music  shall  prolong, 

With  seraph  guards  on  wings  of  fire; 

And  echo  thy  entrancing  song; 

Yet  shall  they  weep ;  —  for  oft  and  well 

My  lyre  with  sympathy  divine 

Remembrance  shall  her  story  tell, 

Shall  answer  every  chord  of  thine, 

Affection  of  her  virtues  speak. 
With  beaming  eye  and  burning  cheek, 
Each  action,  word,  and  look  recall, 
The  last,  the  loveliest  of  all, 
When  on  the  lap  of  death  she  lay, 
Serenely  smiled  her  soul  away, 
And  left  surviving  Friendship's  breast 
Warm  with  the  sunset  of  her  rest. 

0  thou,  who  wert  on  earth  unknown, 
Companion  of  my  thought  alone  ! 
Unchanged  in  heaven  to  me  thou  art, 
Still  hold  communion  with  my  heart  ; 
Cheer  thou  my  hopes,  exalt  my  views, 
Be  the  good  angel  of  my  Muse  ; 
—  And  if  to  thine  approving  ear 
My  plaintive  numbers  once  were  dear; 
If,  falling  round  thy  dying  hours, 
Like  evening  dews  on  closing  flowers, 
They  soothed  thy  pains,  and  through  thy  soul 
With  melancholy  sweetness  stole, 
HEAR  ME: — 'When  slumber  from  mine  eyes, 
That  roll  in  irksome  darkness,  flies; 
When  the  lorn  spectre  of  unrest 
At  conscious  midnight  haunts  my  breast; 
When  former  joys,  and  present  woes, 
And  future  fears,  are  all  my  foes; 
Spirit  of  my  departed  friend, 
Calm  through  the  troubled  gloom  descend, 
With  strains  of  triumph  on  thy  tongue, 
Such  as  to  dying  saints  are  sung  : 
Such  as  in  Paradise  the  ear 
Of  God  himself  delights  to  hear; 
— ■  Come,  all  unseen  ;  be  only  known 
By  Zion's  harp  of  higher  tone, 


Till  their  consenting  tones  give  birth 
To  harmonies  unknown  on  earth. 
Then  shall  my  thoughts,  in  living  fire 
Sent  down  from  heaven,  to  heaven  aspire : 
My  verse  through  lofty  measures  rise, 
A  scale  of  glory  to  the  skies, 
Resembling,  on  each  hallow'd  theme. 
The  ladder  of  the  Patriarch's  dream, 
O'er  which  descending  angels  shone. 
On  earthly  missions  from  the  Throne, 
Returning  by  the  steps  they  trod, 
Up  to  the  Paradise  of  God. 
1808. 


THE  PEAK  MOUNTAINS. 

IN   TWO    PARTS. 

WRITTEN  AT  BUXTON,   IN  AUGUST,  1812. 

It  may  be  useful  to  remark,  that  the  scenery  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Buxton,  when  surveyed  from  any  of  the  sur- 
rounding eminences,  consists  chiefly  of  numerous  and 
naked  hills,  of  which  many  are  yet  unenclosed,  and  the 
rest  poorly  cultivated;  the  whole  district,  except  in  the 
immediate  precincts  of  the  Baths  and  the  village  of  Fair- 
field, being  miserably  bare  of  both  trees  and  houses. 

Part  I. 

IlEALTn  on  these  open  hills  I  seek, 
By  these  delicious  springs,  in  vain  ; 
The  rose  on  this  deserted  cheek 
Shall  never  bloom  again  : 
For  youth  is  fled  :  —  and,  less  by  time 
Than  sorrow  worn  away, 


322                                                       THE  PEAK  MOUNTAINS. 

The  pride,  the  strength,  of  manhood's  prime 

Deep  moss  and  heather  clothe  the  soil, 

Falls  to  decay. 

And  many  a  springlet  plays, 

That,  welling  from  its  secret  source, 

Restless  and  fluttering  to  expire, 

Down  rugged  dells  is  tost, 

Life's  vapour  sheds  a  cold  dim  light, 

Or  spreads  through  rushy  fens  its  course, 

Frail  on  the  evanescent  fire 

Silently  lost. 

Amidst  the  murky  night, 

That  tempts  the  traveller  from  afar 

The  flocks  and  herds,  that  freely  range 

To  follow,  o'er  the  heath, 

These  moorlands,  turn  a  jealous  eye, 

Its  baleful  and  bewildering  star 

As  if  the  form  of  man  were  strange, 

To  snares  of  death. 

To  watch  me  stealing  by ; 

The  heifer  stands  aloof  to  gaze, 

A  dreary  torpor  numbs  my  brain  : 

The  colt  comes  boldly  on  :  — 

Now  shivering  pale, —  now  flush'd  with  heat; 

I  pause,  —  he  shakes  his  forelock,  neighs, 

Hurried,  then  slow,  from  vein  to  vein 

Starts,  and  is  gone. 

Unequal  pulses  beat; 

Quick  palpitations  heave  mjr  heart, 

I  seek  the  valley  :  —  all  alone 

Anon  it  seems  to  sink  ; 

I  seem  in  this  sequester'd  place : 

Alarm'd  at  sudden  sounds  I  start, 

Not  so  :  I  meet  unseen,  yet  known, 

From  shadows  shrink. 

My  Maker  face  to  face ; 

Bear  me,  my  failing  limbs  !  0  !  bear 
A  melancholy  sufferer  forth, 
To  breathe  abroad  the  mountain  air 
Fresh  from  the  vigorous  north  ; 

My  heart  perceives  his  presence  nigh, 
And  hears  his  voice  proclaim, 
While  bright  his  glory  passes  by, 
His  noblest  name. 

To  view  the  prospect,  waste  and  wild, 

Tempestuous  or  serene, 

Still  dear  to  me,  as  to  the  child 

LOVE  is  that  name.  — for  GOD  is  LOVE; 
—  Here,  where,  unbuilt  by  mortal  hands, 
Mountains  below  and  heaven  above, 

The  mother's  mien. 

His  awful  temple  stands, 

Ah  !  who  can  look  on  Nature's  face, 
And  feel  unholy  passions  move? 
Her  forms  of  majesty  and  grace 
I  cannot  choose  but  love  : 

I  worship  :  —  "  Loud  !  though  I  am  dust 
And  ashes  in  thy  sight, 
Be  thou  my  strength  ;  in  Thee  I  trust : 
Be  thou  my  light." 

Her  frowns  or  smiles  my  woes  disarm, 

Care  and  repining  cease  ; 

Part  II. 

Her  terrors  awe,  her  beauties  charm 

My  thoughts  to  peace. 

Emerging  from  the  cavern'd  glen, 

From  steep  to  steep  I  slowly  climb, 

Already  through  mine  inmost  soul 

And,  far  above  the  haunts  of  men, 

A  deep  tranquillity  I  feel, 

I  tread  in  air  sublime: 

O'er  every  nerve,  with  mild  control, 

Beneath  my  path  the  swallows  sweep  : 

Her  consolations  steal ; 

Yet  higher  crags  impend, 

This  fever'd  frame  and  fretful  mind, 

And  wild  flowers  from  the  fissures  peep, 

Jarring  midst  doubts  and  fears, 

And  rills  descend. 

Are  soothed  to  harmony: — I  find 
Delight  in  tears. 

Now  on  the  ridges  bare  and  bleak, 

Cool  round  my  temples  sighs  the  gale: 

I  quit  the  path,  and  track  with  toil 

Ye  winds!  that  wander  o'er  the  Peak; 

The  mountains'  unfrequented  maze; 

Ye  mountain  spirits  !  hiiil  ! 

TO  ANN  AND  JANE.                                                                323 

Angels  of  health !  to  man  below 

Hither,  of  old,  the  Almighty  came ; 

Ye  bring  celestial  airs  ; 

Clouds  were  his  car,  his  steeds  the  wind  : 

Bear  back  to  Him,  from  whom  ye  blow, 

Before  Him  went  devouring  flame, 

Our  praise  and  prayers. 

And  thunder  roll'd  behind; 

At  his  approach  the  mountains  reel'd 

Here,  like  the  eagle  from  his  nest, 

Like  vessels  to  and  fro; 

I  take  my  proud  and  dizzy  stand ; 

Earth,  heaving  like  a  sea,  reveal'd 

Here,  from  the  cliff's  sublimest  crest, 

The  gulfs  below. 

Look  down  upon  the  land: 

0  for  an  eagle's  eye  to  gaze 
Undazzled  through  this  light! 
0  for  the  eagle's  wings  to  raise 
O'er  all  my  flight! 

Borne  through  the  wilderness  in  wrath, 
He  seem'd  in  power  alone  a  God  ; 
But  blessings  follow'd  in  his  path, 
For  Mercy  seized  his  rod; 

The  sun  in  glory  walks  the  sky, 
White  fleecy  clouds  are  floating  round, 
Whose  shapes  along  the  landscape  fly, — 
Here,  chequering  o'er  the  ground; 

She  smote  the  rock, —  and,  as  He  pass'd, 
Forth  gush'd  a  living  stream  ; 
The  fire,  the  earthquake,  and  the  blast 
Fled  as  a  dream. 

There,  down  the  glens  the  shadows  sweep, 
With  changing  lights  between ; 
Yonder  they  climb  the  upland  steep, 
Shifting  the  scene. 

Behold  the  everlasting  hills, 
In  that  convulsion  scatter'd  round; 
Hark  !  from  their  caves  the  issuing  rills 
With  sweetest  music  sound : 

Above,  beneath,  immensely  spread, 
Valleys  and  hoary  rocks  I  view, 
Heights  over  heights  exalt  their  head, 
Of  many  a  sombre  hue  ; 

Ye  lame  and  impotent !  draw  near; 
With  healing  on  her  wing, 
The  cherub  Mercy  watches  here 
Her  ancient  spring. 

No  waving  woods  their  flanks  adorn, 

No  hedge-rows,  gay  with  trees, 

Encircle  fields,  where  floods  of  corn 

Roll  to  the  breeze. 

TO  ANN  AND  JANE. 

My  soul  this  vast  horizon  fills, 

VERSES   WRITTEN  ON    A    BLANK    LEAF    IN    THE    SMALL   VOLUME 

Within  whose  undulated  line 

OF 

Thick  stand  the  multitude  of  hills, 
And  clear  the  waters  shine  ; 

HYMN'S  FOR  INFANT  MINDS. 

Grey  mossy  walls  the  slopes  ascend; 

When  the  shades  of  night  retire 

While  roads  that  tire  the  eye, 

From  the  morn's  advancing  beams, 

Upward  their  winding  course  extend, 

Ere  the  hills  are  tipt  with  fire, 

And  touch  the  sky. 

And  the  radiance  lights  the  streams, 

Lo  !  the  lark  begins  her  song, 

With  rude  diversity  of  form, 

Early  on  the  wing,  and  long. 

The  insulated  mountains  tower; 

—  Oft  o'er  these  cliffs  the  transient  storm 

Summon'd  by  the  signal  notes, 

And  partial  darkness  lower, 

Soon  her  sisters  quit  the  lawn, 

While  yonder  summits  far  away 

With  their  wildly  warbling  throats, 

Shine  sweetly  through  the  gloom, 

Soaring  in  the  dappled  dawn  : 

Like  glimpses  of  eternal  day 

Brighter,  warmer,  spread  the  rays  ; 

Beyond  the  tomb. 

Louder,  sweeter,  swell  their  lays. 

324                                 ODE  OX  THE  BRITISH  SYSTEM  OF  EDUCATION. 

Nestlings,  in  their  grassy  beds, 

Force,  cunning,  speed,  which  Nature  gave 

Hearkening  to  the  joyful  sound, 

The  various  tribes  throughout  her  plan, 

Heavenward  point  their  little  heads, 

Life  to  enjoy,  from  death  to  save, — 

Lowly  twittering  from  the  ground, 

These  are  the  lowest  powers  of  Man. 

Ere  their  wings  are  fledged  to  fly 

To  the  chorus  in  the  sky. 

From  strength  to  strength  he  travels  on : 

He  leaves  the  lingering  brute  behind; 

Thus,  fair  Minstrels,  while  ye  sing, 

And  when  a  few  short  years  are  gone, 

Teaching  infant  minds  to  raise 

He  soars,  a  disembodied  mind  : 

To  the  Universal  King 

Beyond  the  grave,  his  course  sublime 

numhle  hymns  of  prayer  and  praise, 

Destined  through  nobler  paths  to  run, 

0  may  all  who  hear  your  voice 

In  his  career  the  end  of  Time 

Look,  and  listen,  and  rejoice  ! 

Is  but  Eternity  begun. 

Faltering  like  the  skylark's  young, 

What  guides  him  in  his  high  pursuit, 

While  your  numbers  they  record, 

Opens,  illumines,  cheers  his  way, 

Soon  may  every  heart  and  tongue 

Discerns  the  immortal  from  the  brute, 

Learn  to  magnify  the  Loud  : 

God's  image  from  the  mould  of  clay  ? 

And  your  strains  divinely  sweet, 

'Tis  Knowledge  :  —  Knowledge  to  the  soul 

Unborn  millions  thus  repeat. 

Is  power,  and  liberty,  and  peace; 

And  while  celestial  ages  roll, 

Minstrels  !  what  reward  is  due 

The  joys  of  Knowledge  shall  increase. 

For  this  labour  of  your  love? 

Through  eternity  may  Tor, 

Hail  to  the  glorious  plan,  that  spread 

In  the  Paradise  above, 

The  light  with  universal  beams, 

Round  the  dear  Redeemer's  feet, 

And  through  the  human  desert  led 

All  your  infant  readers  meet ! 

Truth's  living,  pure,  perpetual  streams  ! 

—  Behold  a  new  creation  rise, 

New  spirit  breathed  into  the  clod, 
Where'er  the  voice  of  Wisdom  cries, 

OCCASIONAL  ODE. 

"  Man,  know  thyself,  and  fear  thy  God." 

FOB   THE 
ANNIVERSARY    OF   THE     ROYAL    BRITISH     SYSTEM   OF 

EDUCATION'. 

• 

A  DAUGHTER  (C.  M.)  TO  HER  MOTHER. 

Held  at  Freemasons'  Hall,  May  16, 1S12. 

On  her  BmiH-DAT,  Nov.  25. 1811. 

The  lion  o'er  his  wild  domains 

Rules  with  the  terror  of  his  eye; 

This  the  day  to  me  most  dear 

The  eagle  of  the  rock  maintains 

In  the  changes  of  the  year; 

By  force  his  empire  in  the  sky ; 

Spring,  the  fields  and  woods  adorning, 

The  shark,  the  tyrant  of  the  flood, 

Spring  may  boast  a  gayer  morning; 

Reigns  through  the  deep  with  quenchless  rage : 

Summer  noon  with  brighter  beams 

Parent  and  young,  unwean'd  from  blood, 

Gild  the  mountains  and  the  streams ; 

Are  still  the  same  from  age  to  age. 

Autumn,  through  the  twilight  rale, 

Breathe  a  more  delicious  gale : 

Of  all  that  live,  and  move,  and  breathe, 

Yet,  though  stern  November  reigns 

Man  only  rises  o'er  his  birth  : 

Wild  and  wintry  o'er  the  plains, 

He  looks  above,  around,  beneath, 

Never  does  the  morning  rise 

At  once  the  heir  of  heaven  and  earth: 

Half  so  welcome  to  mine  eyes ; 

1 

A  DAUGHTER  TO  HER  MOTHER.                                                  325 

Noontide  glories  never  shed 

Time  since  then  hath  deeper  made 

Rays  so  beauteous  round  my  head ; 

Lines,  where  youthful  dimples  play'd; 

Never  looks  the  evening-scene 

Yet  to  me  my  Mother's  face 

So  enchantingly  serene, 

Wears  a  more  angelic  grace  ; 

As  on  this  returning  day, 

And  her  tresses  thin  and  hoary, 

AVhen,  in  spirit  rapt  away, 

Are  they  not  a  crown  of  glory  ?  — 

Joys  and  sorrows  I  have  known, 

Cruel  griefs  have  wrung  that  breast, 

In  the  years  for  ever  flown, 

Once  my  Paradise  of  rest : 

Wake  at  every  sound  and  sight, 

While  in  these  I  bear  a  part, 

Reminiscence  of  delight;  — 

Warmer  grows  my  Mother's  heart, 

All  around  me,  all  above, 

Closer  our  affections  twine, 

Witnessing  a  Mother's  love. 

Mine  with  hers,  and  hers  with  mine. 

—  Many  a  name,  since  hers  I  knew, 

Love,  that  watch'd  my  early  years 

Have  I  loved  with  honour  due, 

With  conflicting  hopes  and  fears  ; 

But  no  name  shall  be  more  dear 

Love,  that  through  life's  flowery  May 

Than  my  Mother's  to  mine  ear. — 

Led  my  childhood,  prone  to  stray ; 

Many  a  hand  that  friendship  plighted 

Love,  that  still  directs  my  youth 

Have  I  elasp'd,  with  all  delighted, 

With  the  constancy  of  Truth, 

But  more  faithful  none  can  be 

Heightens  every  bliss  it  shares, 

Than  my  Mother's  hand  to  me. 

Softens  and  divides  the  cares, 

Smiles  away  my  light  distress, 

Thus  by  every  tie  endear'd, 

Weeps  for  joy,  or  tenderness: 

Thus  with  filial  reverence  fear'd, 

—  May  that  love,  to  latest  age, 

Mother!  on  this  day  'tis  meet 

Cheer  my  earthly  pilgrimage  ! 

That,  with  salutation  sweet, 

May  that  love,  o'er  death  victorious, 

I  should  wish  you  years  of  health, 

Rise  beyond  the  grave  more  glorious ! 

Worldly  happiness  and  wealth, 

Souls,  united  here,  would  be 

And,  when  good  old  age  is  past, 

One  to  all  eternity. 

Heaven's  eternal  peace  at  last ! 

But  with  these  I  frame  a  vow 

When  these  eyes  from  native  night 

For  a  double  blessing  now ; 

First  unfolded  to  the  light, 

One,  that  richly  shall  combine 

On  what  object,  fair  and  new, 

Your  felicity  with  mine; 

Did  they  fix  their  fondest  view  ? 

One,  in  which  with  soul  and  voice 

On  my  Mother's  smiling  mien; 

Both  together  may  rejoice  : 

All  the  mother  there  was  seen. 

0  what  shall  that  blessing  be? 

When  their  weary  lids  would  close, 

—  Dearest  Mother !  may  you  see 

And  she  sang  me  to  repose, 

All  your  prayers  fulfill'd/or  me  ! 

Found  I  not  the  sweetest  rest 

On  my  Mother's  peaceful  breast? 
AVhen  my  tongue  from  hers  had  caught 

Sounds  to  utter  infant  thought, 

Readiest  then  what  accents  came  ? 

CHATTERTON. 

Those  that  meant  my  Mother's  name. 
When  my  timid  feet  begun, 

Stanzas  on  reading  the  Verses  end/led  'Resignation?  written 

by  Chatterton  a  few  days  before  his  melancholy  end. 

Strangely  pleased,  to  stand  or  run, 

'Twas  my  Mother's  voice  and  eye 

A  dying  swan  of  Pindus  sings 

Most  encouraged  me  to  try, 

In  wildly  mournful  strains  ; 

Safe  to  run,  and  strong  to  stand, 

As  Death's  cold  fingers  snap  the  strings, 

Holding  by  her  gentle  hand. 

His  suffering  lyre  complains. 

326 


CHATTERTOX.—  THE  WILD  ROSE. 


Soft  as  the  mist  of  evening  wends 
Along  the  shadowy  vale  : 
Sad  as  in  storms  the  moon  ascends, 
And  turns  the  darkness  pale  : 

So  soft  the  melting  numbers  flow 
From  his  harmonious  lips; 
So  sad  his  woe-wan  features  show, 
Just  fading  in  eclipse. 

The  Bard,  to  dark  despair  resign'd, 
With  his  expiring  art, 
Sings,  midst  the  tempest  of  his  mind, 
The  shipwreck  of  his  heart. 

If  Hope  still  seem  to  linger  nigh, 
And  hover  o'er  his  head, 
Her  pinions  are  too  weak  to  fly, 
Or  Hope  ere  now  had  fled. 

Rash  Minstrel !  who  can  hear  thy  songs 
Nor  long  to  share  thy  fire  ? 
Who  read  thine  errors  and  thy  wrongs, 
Nor  execrate  the  lyre  ? 

The  lyre,  that  sunk  thee  to  the  grave, 
When  bursting  into  bloom, — 
That  lyre,  the  power  of  Genius  gave 
To  blossom  in  the  tomb. 

Yes,  till  his  memory  fail  with  years, 
Shall  Time  thy  strains  recite  ; 
And  while  thy  story  swells  his  tears, 
Thy  song  shall  charm  his  flight. 

1802. 


THE  WILD  ROSE. 

OX  PLUCKING  0>"E  LATE  IX  THE  MONTH  OF 
OCTOBER. 

Tnou  last  pale  promise  of  the  waning  year. 
Poor  sickly  Rose  !  what  dost  thou  here  ? 
Why,  frail  flower  !  so  late  a  comer, 
Hast  thou  slept  away  the  Summer? 


Sinoe  now,  in  Autumn's  sullen  reign, 

When  ev'ry  breeze 

Unrobes  the  trees, 

And  strews  their  annual  garments  on  the  plain, 

Awaking  from  repose, 

Thy  fairy  lids  unclose. 

Feeble,  evanescent  flower, 
Smile  away  thy  sunless  hour ; 
Every  daisy,  in  my  walk, 
Scorns  thee  from  its  humbler  stalk  : 
Nothing  but  thy  form  discloses 
Thy  descent  from  royal  roses  : 
How  thine  ancestors  would  blush 
To  behold  thee  on  their  bush, 
Drooping  thy  dejected  head 
Where  their  bolder  blossoms  spread ; 
Withering  in  the  frosty  gale, 
Where  their  fragrance  fill'd  the  vale ! 

Last  and  meanest  of  thy  race, 

Void  of  beauty,  colour,  grace, 

No  bee  delighted  sips 

Ambrosia  from  thy  lips ; 

No  spangling  dew-drops  gem 

Thy  fine  elastic  stem  ; 

No  living  lustre  glistens  o'er  thy  bloom, 

Thy  sprigs  no  verdant  leaves  adorn, 

Thy  bosom  breathes  no  exquisite  perfume  ; 

But  pale  thy  countenance  as  snow, 

While,  unconceal'd  below, 

All  naked  glares  the  threatening  thorn. 

Around  thy  bell,  o'er  mildew'd  leaves, 
His  ample  web  a  spider  weaves  ; 
A  wily  ruffian,  gaunt  and  grim, 
His  labyrinthine  toils  he  spreads 
Pensile  and  light:  —  their  glossy  threads 
Bestrew'd  with  many  a  wing  and  limb; 
Even  in  thy  chalice  he  prepares 
His  deadly  poison  and  delusive  snares. 

While  I  pause,  a  vagrant  fly 
Giddily  comes  buzzing  by  ; 
Round  and  round,  on  viewless  wings, 
Lo  !  the  insect  wheels  and  sings : 
Closely  couch'd,  the  fiend  discovers, 
Sets  him  with  his  sevenfold  eyes, 
And,  while  o'er  the  verge  he  hovers, 
Seems  to  fascinate  his  prize, 


ON  FINDING  THE  FEATHERS  OF  A  LINNET. 

327 

As  the  snaked  uiaguetic  glare 

Charms  the  flitting  tribes  of  air, 

Till  the  dire  enchantment  draws 

ON  FINDING  THE  FEATHERS  OF 

Destined  victims  to  his  jaws. 

A  LINNET 

Now  midst  kindred  corses  mangled, 

SCATTERED   OX   TIIE   GROUXD    IX    A    SOLITARY    WAL 

On  his  feet  alights  the  fly; 

Ah  !  he  feels  himself  entangled, 

These  little  relics,  hapless  bird  ! 

Hark  !  he  pours  a  piteous  cry. 

That  strew  the  lonely  vale, 

Swift  as  Death's  own  arrows  dart, 

With  silent  eloquence  record 

On  his  prey  the  spider  springs, 

Thy  melancholy  tale. 

Wounds  his  side, —  with  dexterous  art 

Winds  the  web  about  his  wings; 

Like  Autumn's  leaves,  that  rustle  round 

Quick  as  he  came,  recoiling  then, 

From  every  withering  tree, 

The  villain  vanishes  into  his  den. 

These  plumes,  dishevell'd  o'er  the  ground, 

The  desperate  fly  perceives  too  late 

Alone  remain  of  thee. 

The  hastening  crisis  of  his  fate; 

Disaster  crowds  upon  disaster, 

Some  hovering  kite's  rapacious  maw 

And  every  struggle  to  get  free 

Hath  been  thy  timeless  grave  : 

Snaps  the  hopes  of  liberty, 

No  pitying  eye  thy  murder  saw, 

And  draws  the  knots  of  bondage  faster. 

No  friend  appear'd  to  save. 

Again  the  spider  glides  along  the  line ; 

Heaven's  thunder  smite  the  guilty  foe ! 

Hold,  murderer!  hold;  —  the  game  is  mine. 

No:  —  spare  the  tyrant's  breath, 

—  Captive  !  unwarn'd  by  danger,  go, 

Till  wintry  winds,  and  famine  slow, 

Frolic  awhile  in  light  and  air; 

Avenge  thy  cruel  death ! 

Thy  fate  'tis  easy  to  foreshow, 

Preserved to  perish  in  a  safer  snare  ! 

But  every  feather  of  thy  wing 

Spider  !  thy  worthless  life  I  spare ; 

Be  quicken'd  where  it  lies, 

Advice  on  thee  'twere  vain  to  spend, 

And  at  the  soft  return  of  Spring, 

Thy  wicked  ways  thou  wilt  not  mend, — 

A  fragrant  cowslip  rise  ! 

Then  haste  thee,  spoiler,  mend  thy  net; 

Wiser  than  I 

Few  were  thy  days,  thy  pleasures  few, 

Must  be  yon  fly, 

Simple  and  unconfined; 

If  he  escapes  thy  trammels  yet; 

On  sunbeams  every  moment  flew, 

Most  eagerly  the  trap  is  sought 

Nor  left  a  care  behind. 

In  which  a  fool  has  once  been  caught. 

In  Spring  to  build  thy  curious  nest, 

And  thou,  poor  Rose  !  whose  livid  leaves  expand, 

And  woo  thy  merry  bride, 

Cold  to  the  sun,  untempting  to  the  hand, 

Carol  and  fly,  and  sport  and  rest, 

Bloom  unadmired,  uninjured  die; 

Was  all  thy  humble  pride. 

Thine  aspect,  squalid  and  forlorn, 

Ensures  thy  peaceful,  dull  decay  : 

Happy  beyond  the  lot  of  kings, 

Hadst  thou  with  blushes  hid  thy  thorn, 

Thy  bosom  knew  no  smart, 

Grown  "  sweet  to  sense,  and  lovely  to  the  eye," 

Till  the  last  pang,  that  tore  the  strings 

I  might  have  pluck'd  thy  flower, 

From  thy  dissever'd  heart. 

Worn  it  an  hour, 

"Then  cast  it  like  a  loathsome  weed  away."1 

When  late  to  secret  griefs  a  prey, 

I  wander'd  slowly  here, 

1  Otway's  Orphan. 

Wild  from  the  copse  an  artless  lay, 

1796. 

Like  magic,  won  mine  ear. 

r 


32S 


SONNETS  IMITATED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN. 


Perhaps  't  was  thy  last  evening  song, 

Fresh  from  the  bosom  of  an  Alpine  hill, 

That  exquisitely  stole 

When  the  coy  fountain  sparkles  into  day, 

In  sweetest  melody  along, 

And  sunbeams  bathe  and  brighten  in  its  rill; 

And  harmonised  my  soul. 

If  here  a  plant,  and  there  a  flower,  in  play, 

Bending  to  sip,  the  little  channel  fill, 

Xow,  blithe  musician  !  now  no  more 

It  ebbs,  and  languishes,  and  dies  away. 

Thy  mellow  pipe  resounds, 

But  jarring  drums  at  distance  roar, 

And  yonder  howl  the  hounds  :  — 

SONNET. 

The  hounds,  that  through  the  echoing  wood 

IMITATED   FEOM  THE   ITALIAN  OF  PETRARCH. 

The  panting  hare  pursue  ; 

Lonely  and  thoughtful  o'er  deserted  plains, 

The  drums,  that  wake  the  cry  of  blood, 

I  pass  with  melancholy  steps  and  slow, 

—  The  voice  of  glory  too  ! 

Mine  eyes  intent  to  shun,  where'er  I  go, 

The  track  of  man  :  —  from  him  to  hide  my  pains, 

Here  at  my  feet  thy  frail  remains, 

Xo  refuge  save  the  wilderness  remains  : 

Unwept,  unburied,  lie, 

The  curious  multitude  would  quickly  know, 

Like  victims  on  embattled  plains, 

Amidst  affected  smiles,  the  eherish'd  woe 

Forsaken  where  they  die. 

That  wrings  my  bosom,  and  consumes  my  veins. 

Yet  could  the  Muse,  whose  strains  rehearse 

0  that  the  rocks  and  streams  of  solitude, 

Thine  unregarded  doom, 

The  vales  and  woods,  alone  my  griefs  might  see ! 

Enshrine  thee  in  immortal  verse, 

But  paths,  however  secret,  wild  and  rude, 

Kings  should  not  seorn  thy  tomb. 

I  find  not  from  tormenting  passion  free ; 

Where'er  I  wander,  still  by  Love  pursued, 

Though  brief  as  thine  my  tuneful  date, 

With  Him  I  hold  communion,  He  with  me. 

When  wandering  near  this  spot, 

The  sad  memorials  of  thy  fate 

Shall  never  be  forgot. 

SONNET. 

IMITATED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  GAETANA   PASSERTNI. 

While  doom*d  the  lingering  pangs  to  feel, 

Of  many  a  nameless  fear, 

ON    THE    SIEGE    OF    GENOA    BY    THE    FRENCH    ARMY 

One  truant  sigh  from  these  1 11  steal, 

IN    1 

And  drop  one  willing  tear. 
1796. 

Liberty  yjco/.-s. 

"  My  native  Genoa  !  if  with  tearless  eye, 

Prone  in  the  dust  thy  beauteous  form  I  see, 

Think  not  thy  daughter's  heart  is  dead  to  thee; 

SONNET. 

'Twere  treason,  0  my  mother!  here  to  sigh, 

IMITATED   FF.OM   THE  ITALIAN  OF   P.   SALANDIU. 

For  here,  majestic  though  in  ashes,  lie 
Trophies  of  valour,  skill,  and  constancy ; 

TO    A    BRIDE. 

Here  at  each  glance,  each  footstep,  I  descry 

The  more  divinely  beautiful  thou  art, 

The  proud  memorials  of  thy  love  to  me. 

Lady!  of  love's  inconstancy  beware; 

"  Conquest  to  noble  suffering  lost  the  day, 

Watch  o'er  thy  charms,  and  with  an  angel's  care 

And  glorious  was  thy  vengeance  on  the  foe, 

0  guard  thy  maiden  purity  of  heart : 

—  He  saw  thee  perish,  yet  not  feel  the  blow." 

At  every  whisper  of  temptation  start  ; 

Thus  Liberty,  exulting  on  her  way, 

The  lightest  breathings  of  unhallow'd  air 

Kiss'd  the  dear  relics,  mouldering  as  they  lay, 

Love's  tender  trembling  lustre  will  impair, 

And    cried,  —  "In   ruins?  —  Yes.'     In    slavery? 

Till  all  the  light  of  innocence  depart. 

— No .' 

DEPARTED    DAYS. 


329 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FROM   THE   ITALIAN   OF  BENEDETTO  DALL'  OTA. 

OX  THE  SIEGE  OP  FAMAGUSTA,  IN  THE  ISLAND  OP 
CYPRUS,  BY  THE  TURKS,  IN  1571. 

This  saith  the  Lord: — "In  whom  shall  Cyprus 

trust, 
With  all  her  crimes,  her  luxury,  and  pride? 
In  her  voluptuous  loves  will  she  confide, 
Her  harlot-daughters,  and  her  queen  of  lust? 
My  day  is  come  when  o'er  her  neck  in  dust 
Vengeance  aud  fury  shall  triumphant  ride, 
Death  aud  captivity  the  spoil  divide, 
And  Cyprus  perish  : —  I  the  Lord  am  just. 

"Then  he  that  bought,  and  he  that  sold  in  thee, 
Thy  princely  merchants,  shall  their  loss  deplore, 
Brothers  in  ruin  as  in  fraud  before  ; 
And  thou,  who  madest  thy  rampart  of  the  sea, 
Less  by  the  foes  cast  down  than  crush'd  by  Me  ! 
Thou,  Famagusta  !  fall,  and  rise  no  more." 


DEPARTED  DAYS: 


A    RHAPSODY. 


Written  on  visiting:  Fulneck.  in  Yorkshire  (whore  the  Au- 
thor was  educated),  in  the  Spring  of  1806. 

Days  of  my  childhood,  hail ! 
Whose  gentle  spirits  wandering  here, 
Down  in  the  visionary  vale, 
Before  mine  eyes  appear, 
Benignly  pensive,  beautifully  pale  ; 
0  days  for  ever  fled,  for  ever  dear, 
Days  of  my  childhood,  hail ! 


1  In  November,  1S26,  when  many  of  my  friends  and  neigh- 
bours honoured  me  with  a  public  entertainment,  on  retir- 
ing from  my  long  labours  among  them,  as  owner  ami  edi- 
tor of  a  local  Journal  (tee  the  Generul  Pn-face  to  this  volinnr), 
there  were  others,  especially  ladies,  who  could  not  conveni- 
ently join  in  the  festivities  of  a  dinner-table,  but  who 
wished  to  show  me  some  token  of  kindness  on  the  occasion. 
By  these,  a  few  weeks  afterwards,  I  was  presented  with  a 
handsome  silver  inkstand,  of  home  manufacture,  for  my- 
self, and  two  hundred  sovereigns  toward  the  expense  of 
renewing  a  Christian  mission  by  the  United  Brethren  (or 
Moravians')  in  the  West  Indian  island  of  Tobago,  whirl, 
had  been  begun  by  my  parents  in  the  year  1789.    The  trou- 


Joys  of  my  early  hours  ! 

The  swallows  on  the  wing, 

The  bees  among  the  flowers, 

The  butterflies  of  Spring, 

Light  as  their  lovely  moments  flew, 
Were  not  more  gay,  more  innocent,  than  you : 

And  fugitive  as  they, 

Like  butterflies  in  Spring, 

Like  bees  among  the  flowers, 

Like  swallows  on  the  wing, 
How  swift,  how  soon,  ye  pass'd  away, 

Joys  of  my  early  hours  ! 

The  loud  Atlantic  ocean, 

On  Scotland's  rugged  breast, 

Rocks,  with  harmonious  motion, 

His  weary  waves  to  rest, 

And,  gleaming  round  her  emerald  isles, 

In  all  the  pomp  of  sunset  smiles. 

On  that  romantic  shore 

My  parents  hail'd  their  first-born  boy: 

A  mother's  pangs  my  mother  bore, 

My  father  felt  a  father's  joy  : 

My  father,  mother, —  parents  now  no  more  ! 

Beneath  the  Lion-Star  they  sleep, 

Beyond  the  western  deep, 
And  when  the  sun's  noon  glory  crests  the  waves, 
He  shines  without  a  shadow  on  their  graves.1 

Sweet  seas,  and  smiling  shores  ! 
When  no  tornado-demon  roars, 
Resembling  that  celestial  clime 
Where,  with  the  spirits  of  the  blest, 
Beyond  the  hurricanes  of  Time, 
Prom  all  their  toils  my  parents  rest: 
There,  skies  eternally  serene 
Diffuse  ambrosial  balm 
Through  sylvan  isles  for  ever  green, 
O'er  seas  for  ever  calm  ; 


hies  of  the  French  Revolution  soon  afterwards  having 
reached  that  colony,  the  work  was  abandoned  in  the  follow- 
ing year,  and  my  lather  was  compelled  to  take  refuge  in 
Barbadoes,  where  he  had  born  previously  stationed  as  a 
minister  of  the  gospel  of  peace  to  the  Negro-slaves.  Before 
bis  flight,  my  mother  bad  been  released  from  sharing  his 
toils  aud  sufferings  on  earth,  ami  her  bereaved  partner 
had  deposited  her  remains,  to  wait  the  resurrection  of  the 
just,  in  the  little  garden  attached  to  their  temporary  hab- 
itation, there  bring  no  Protestant  place  for  interment  in 
the  island: — thus  taking  possession,  though  "hoping  a- 
gainst  hope,"  of  the  land  when-  he  had  sojourned  with  her 
as  a  stranger  for  a  tew  months  only;  — like  the  Patriarch 


330 


DEPARTED    DAYS. 


While  saints  and  angels,  kindling  in  his  rays, 
On  the  full  glory  of  the  Godhead  gaze, 
And  taste  and  prove,  in  that  transporting  sight, 
Joy  without  sorrow,  without  darkness  light. 

Light  without  darkness,  without  sorrow  joy, 
On  earth  are  all  unknown  to  man  ; 
Here,  while  I  roved,  a  heedless  boy, 
Here,  while  through  paths  of  peace  I  ran, 
My  feet  were  vex'd  with  puny  snares, 
My  bosom  stung  with  insect  cares  : 
But  ah  !  what  light  and  little  things 
Are  childhood's  woes! — they  break  no  rest; 
Like  dew-drops  on  the  sky-lark's  wings, 
While  slumbering  in  his  grassy  net, 
Gone  in  a  moment,  when  he  springs 
To  meet  the  morn  with  open  breast, 
As  o'er  the  eastern  Mills  her  banners  glow, 
And  veil'd  in  mist  the  valley  sleeps  below. 

Like  him,  on  these  delightful  plains, 
I  taught,  with  fearless  voice, 
The  echoing  woods  to  sound  my  strains, 
The  mountains  to  rejoice. 
Hail !  to  the  stream  that  purl'd  along 
In  hoarse  accordance  to  my  song; 
My  song,  that  pour'd  unccusured  lays, 
Tuned  to  a  dying  Saviour's  praise, 
In  numbers  simple,  wild,  and  sweet, 
As  were  the  flowers  beneath  my  feet;  — 
Those  flowers  are  dead, 
Those  numbers  fled, 


Abraham,  when  lie  bought  the  cave  of  Machpelah  from 
the  children  of  Heth  to  bury  his  Sarah  in,  and  by  that 
earnest  of  his  contract  secure  the  promised  Canaan  to  his 
posterity  through  many  generations,  when  he  had  as  yet 
"  none  inheritance  in  it ;  no,  not  so  much  as  to  set  his  foot 
on." 

During  the  war  with  England  which  ensued.  Tobago  fell 
into  the  hands  of  our  countrymen,  and  has  been  held  ever 
since  by  the  British  Crown.  My  father,  soon  after  his  re- 
turn to  Barbadoes,  entered  into  his  rest ;  and  for  thirty-five 
years  following,  the  station  in  the  former  island,  where  he 
had  broken  ground  only,  remained  unoccupied  for  the  pur- 
pose to  which  it  had  been  consecrated.  But  Mr.  Hamilton, 
the  gentleman  at  whose  invitation,  and  under  whose  direct 
patronage,  the  experiment  of  the  mission  on  his  estate  had 
been  undertaken  by  my  parents,  never  to  the  end  of  his 
own  life  lost  sight  of  that  object:  and  at  his  death  he  be- 
queathed a  considerable  legacy  for  its  promotion,  should 
the  Brethren  at  a  future  period  be  emboldened  to  resume 
their  evangelical  labours  there.  What  the  sum  left  by  Mr, 
Hamilton   might  be,  I  cannot  now   recollect,  but  I  have 


Yet  o'er  my  secret  thought, 

From  cold  Oblivion's  silent  gloom, 

Their  music  to  mine  ear  is  brought, 

Like  voices  from  the  tomb. 

As  yet  in  this  untainted  breast 

Ts'o  baleful  passion  burn'd, 

Ambition  had  not  banish'd  rest, 

Nor  Hope  had  earthward  turn'd ; 

Proud  Reason  still  in  shadow  lay, 

And  in  my  firmament  alone, 

Forerunner  of  the  day, 

The  dazzling  star  of  wonder  shone, 

By  whose  enchanting  ray 
Creation  open'd  on  my  earliest  view, 
And  all  was  beautiful,  for  all  was  new. 

Too  soon  my  mind's  awakening  powers 
Made  the  light  slumbers  flee, 
Then  vanish'd  with  the  golden  hours, 
The  morning  dreams  of  Infancy ; 
Sweet  were  those  slumbers,  dear  those  dreams,  to 

me; 
And  yet  to  mournful  Memory  lingering  here, 
Sweet  are   those  slumbers,  and  those  dreams   arc 
dear; 
For  hither,  from  my  native  clime, 
The  hand  that  leads  Orion  forth, 
And  wheels  Arcturus  round  the  north, 
Brought  me,  in  Life's  exulting  prime  : 
—  Blest  be  that  hand  !  —  Whether  it  shed 
Mercies  or  judgments  on  my  head, 
Extend  the  sceptre  or  exalt  the  rod, — 
Blest  be  that  hand!  — It  is  the  hand  of  GOD. 

been  informed  that  it  was  so  well  administered  by  his  re- 
presentatives, that,  when  the  mission  was  re-commencod 
on  the  reserved  spot,  that  fund  amounted  to  a  thousand 
pounds.  To  this  my  benefactors  added  the  two  hundred 
pounds,  which  they  had  raised  to  gratify  me  by  a  proof  of 
their  esteem,  the  most  humbling  and  yet  the  most  exalting 
that  could  be  devised. —  namely,  by  stipulating  that  their 
bounty  should  be  appropriated  to  that  sacred  service  in 
which  both  my  parents  had  laid  down  their  lives:  accom- 
panied by  an  earnest  request,  that  the  settlement  about  to 
be  formed  in  the  field  of  their  last  labours  should  be  called 
by  the  name  which  they  bore.  This  was  readily  granted  by 
the  authorities  of  the  Brethren's  Church,  the  Elders'  Con- 
ference at  Hcrrnhut  in  Germany,  who  direct  the  eccle 
tical  affairs  of  the  body,  at  home  and  abroad,  from  synod 
to  synod.  The  mission  thus  revived  in  182.3  has  gradually 
increased  :  and.  under  the  name  of  ':  Montgomery,"  with 
the  blessing  of  God  upon  the  preaching  of  the  Gospel 
by  his  servants  there,  may  it  perpetuate,  to  the  end  of 
time,  the  name  of  those  sainted  relatives  who  left  that 
name  to  me!  — Oct.  12,  1S40. 


HOPE.  — A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 


331 


HOPE. 


IMITATED   FK05I   THE   ITALIAN    OF   SERAFI.NO   AQUTLANO. 


Hope,  unyielding  to  despair, 
Springs  for  ever  fresh  and  fair; 
Earth's  serenest  prospects  fly, 
Hope's  enchantments  never  die. 

At  Fortune's  frown,  in  evil  hour, 
Though  honour,  wealth,  and  friends  depart, 
She  cannot  drive,  with  all  her  power, 
This  lonely  solace  from  the  heart; 

And  while  this  the  soul  sustains, 

Fortune  still  unchanged  remains; 

Wheresoe'er  her  wheel  she  guides, 

Hope  upon  the  circle  rides. 

The  Syrens,  deep  in  ocean's  caves, 
Sing  while  abroad  the  tempests  roar, 
Expecting  soon  the  frantic  waves 
To  ripple  on  a  smiling  shore  : 

In  the  whirlwind,  o'er  the  spray, 
They  behold  the  halcyon  play ; 
And  through  midnight  clouds  afar, 
Hope  lights  up  the  morning  star. 

This  pledge  of  bliss  in  future  years 

Makes  smooth  and  easy  every  toil ; 

The  swain  who  sows  the  waste  with  tears, 

In  fancy  reaps  a  teeming  soil : 

What  though  mildew  blight  his  joy, 
Frost  or  flood  his  crops  destroy, 
War  compel  his  feet  to  roam, 
Hope  still  carols  Harvest  Home ! 

The  monarch  exiled  from  his  realm, 
The  slave  in  fetters  at  the  oar, 
The  seaman  sinking  by  the  helm, 
The  captive  on  his  dungeon  floor  ; 

All,  through  peril,  pain,  and  death, 
Fondly  cling  to  parting  breath  : 
Glory,  freedom,  power,  are  past, 
But  the  dream  of  hope  will  last. 


Weary  and  faint,  with  sickness  worn, 
Blind,  lame,  and  deaf,  and  bent  with  age, 
By  man  the  load  of  life  is  borne 
To  his  last  step  of  pilgrimage  : 

Though  the  branch  no  longer  shoot, 

Vigour  lingers  at  the  root, 

And  in  Winter's  dreariest  day 

Hope  foretels  returning  May. 

When,  wrung  with  guilt,  the  wretch  would  end 
His  gloomy  days  in  sudden  night, 
Hope  comes,  an  unexpected  friend, 
To  win  him  back  to  hated  light: 

"  Hold  !  "  she  cries  ;  and  from  his  hand 

Plucks  the  suicidal  brand; 

"Now  await  a  happier  doom, 

Hope  will  cheer  thee  to  the  tomb." 

When  virtue  droops,  as  comforts  fail, 
And  sore  afflictions  press  the  mind, 
Sweet  Hope  prolongs  her  pleasing  tale, 
Till  all  the  world  again  looks  kind : 

Bound  the  good  man's  dying  bed, 

Where  the  wreck  of  Nature  spread, 

Hope  would  set  his  spirit  free, 

Crying  —  "  Immortality  !  " 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE. 

A  Mother's  Love,  —  how  sweet  the  name! 

What  is  a  Mother's  Love  1 
—  A  noble,  pure,  and  tender  flame, 

Enkindled  from  above, 
To  bless  a  heart  of  earthly  mould  ; 
The  warmest  love  that  can  grow  cold  : 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

To  bring  a  helpless  babe  to  light, 

Then,  while  it  lies  forlorn, 
To  gaze  upon  the  dearest  sight, 

And  feel  herself  new-born, 
In  its  existence  lose  her  own, 
And  live  and  breathe  in  it  alone : 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 


332 


Tin:  TiME-riECE. 


Its  weakness  in  her  arms  to  bear; 

To  cherish  on  her  breast, 
Feed  it  from  Love's  own  fountain  there, 

And  lull  it  there  to  rest; 
Then,  while  it  slumbers,  watch  its  breath, 
As  if  to  guard  from  instant  death  : 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

To  mark  its  growth  from  day  to  day, 

Its  opening  charms  admire. 
Catch  from  its  eye  the  earliest  ray 

Of  intellectual  fire  ; 
To  smile  and  listen  while  it  talks, 
And  lend  a  finger  when  it  walks  : 

This  is  a  Mother's  Love. 

And  can  a  Mother's  Love  grow  cold? 

Can  she  forget  her  boy? 
His  pleading  innocence  behold, 

Nor  weep  for  grief —  for  joy  ? 
A  Mother  may  forget  her  child, 
While  wolves  devour  it  on  the  wild ; 

—  Is  this  a  Mother's  Love? 

Ten  thousand  voices  answer  "  No  !  " 
Ye  clasp  your  babes  and  kiss  ; 

Your  bosoms  yearn,  your  eyes  o'erflow ; 
Yet,  ah  !  remember  this, — 

The  infant,  rear'd  alone  for  earth, 

May  live,  may  die,  —  to  curse  his  birth  ; 

—  Is  this  a  Mother's  Love  ? 

A  parent's  heart  may  prove  a  snare; 

The  child  she  loves  so  well, 
Her  hand  may  lead,  with  gentlest  care, 

Down  the  smooth  road  to  hell ; 
Nourish  its  frame, —  destroy  its  mind: 
Thus  do  the  blind  mislead  the  blind, 

Even  with  a  Mother's  Love. 

Blest  infant!  whom  his  mother  taught 

Early  to  seek  the  Lord, 
And  pour'd  upon  his  dawning  thought 

The  day-spring  of  the  word  ; 
This  was  the  lesson  to  her  son  — 
Time  is  Eternity  begun  : 

Behold  that  Mother's  Love.1 

"2  Tim.  i.  5,  and  Hi.  14,15. 


Blest  Mother !  who,  in  wisdom's  path 

By  her  own  parent  trod, 
Thus  taught  her  son  to  flee  the  wrath, 

And  know  the  fear,  of  God  : 
Ah,  youth  !  like  him  enjoy  your  prime; 
Begin  Eternity  in  time, 

Taught  by  that  Mother's  Love. 

That     Mother's     Love !  —  how     sweet 
name! 

What  was  that  Mother's  Love? 
—  The  noblest,  purest,  tenderest  flame, 

That  kindles  from  above, 
Within  a  heart  of  earthly  mould, 
As  much  of  heaven  as  heart  can  hold, 
Nor  through  eternity  grows  cold  : 

This  was  that  Mother's  Love. 

1814. 


the 


THE  TIME-PIECE. 

Who  is  He,  so  swiftly  flying, 
His  career  no  eye  can  see  ? 
Who  are  They,  so  early  dying, 
From  their  birth  they  cease  to  be? 
Time:  —  behold  his  pictured  face! 
Moments  :  —  can  you  count  their  race  ! 

Though,  with  aspect  deep-dissembling, 
Here  he  feigns  unconscious  sleep, 
Round  and  round  this  circle  trembling, 
Day  and  night  his  symbols  creep, 
While,  unseen,  through  earth  and  sky 
His  unwearying  pinions  ply. 

Hark  !  what  petty  pulses,  beating, 
Spring  new  moments  into  light; 
Every  pulse,  its  stroke  repeating, 
Sends  its  moment  back  to  night; 
Yet  not  one  of  all  the  train 
Comes  uncall'd,  or  flits  in  vain. 

In  the  highest  realms  of  glory, 
Spirits  trace,  before  the  Throne, 


STANZAS  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  REV.  T.  SPENCER. 

333 

On  eternal  scrolls,  the  story 

—  God,  all-searching!  God,  all-seeing! 

Of  each  little  moment  flown  ; 

Oh  !  appease  them,  ere  they  rise  : 

Every  deed,  and  word,  and  thought, 
Through  the  whole  creation  wrought. 

Warn'd  I  fly,  I  fly  to  Thee; 
God,  be  merciful  to  me ! 
Liverpool,  1816. 

Were  the  volume  of  a  minute 

Thus  to  mortal  sight  unroll'd, 

More  of  sin  and  sorrow  in  it, 

More  of  man,  might  we  behold, 
Than  on  History's  broadest  page 

STANZAS    TO    THE    MEMORY    OF 

In  the  relics  of  an  age. 

THE  REV.  THOMAS  SPENCER, 

Who  could  bear  the  revelation? 

OF    LIVERPOOL, 

Who  abide  the  sudden  test? 

WHO   WAS   DROWNED   WHILE   BATHING   IN   THE   TIDE, 

ON 

— With  instinctive  consternation, 

THE  OTH  OF  AUGUST,  1811,  IN  HIS  21ST  YEAR. 

Hands  would  cover  every  breast, 
Loudest  tongues  at  once  be  hush'd, 

"Thy  way  is  in  the  sea,  and  thy  path  in  the  j^reat  waters; 
and  thy  footsteps  are  not  known." — Psalm  lxxvii,  19. 

Pride  in  all  its  writhings  crush'd. 

I  will  not  sing  a  mortal's  praise ; 

Who,  with  leer  malign  exploring 

To  Thee  I  consecrate  my  lays, 

On  his  neighbour's  shame  durst  look? 

To  whom  my  powers  belong ! 

Would  not  each,  intensely  poring 

These  gifts  upon  thine  altar  strown, 

On  that  record  in  the  book, 

0  God  !  accept — accept  thine  own  ; 

Which  his  inmost  soul  reveai'd, 

My  gifts  are  Thine, —  be  Thine  alone 

Wish  its  leaves  for  ever  seal'd  ? 

The  glory  of  my  song. 

Seal'd  they  are  for  years,  and  ages, 

In  earth  and  ocean,  sky  and  air, 

Till, —  the  earth's  last  circuit  run, 

All  that  is  excellent  and  fair, 

Empire  changed  through  all  its  stages, 

Seen,  felt,  or  understood, 

Risen  and  set  the  latest  sun, — 

From  one  eternal  cause  descends, 

On  the  sea  and  on  the  land 

To  one  eternal  centre  tends, 

Shall  a  midnight  Angel  stand  :  — 

With  God  begins,  continues,  ends, 
The  source  and  stream  of  good. 

Stand;  —  and,  while  the'  abysses  tremble, 

Swear  that  Time  shall  be  no  more : 

I  worship  not  the  Sun  at  noon, 

Quick  and  Dead  shall  then  assemble, 

The  wandering  Stars,  the  changing  Moon, 

Men  and  Demons  range  before 

The  Wind,  the  Flood,  the  Flame ; 

That  tremendous  judgment-seat 

I  will  not  bow  the  votive  knee 

Where  both  worlds  at  issue  meet. 

To  Wisdom,  Virtue,  Liberty  : 
"There  is  no  god  but  God"  for  me; 

Time  himself,  with  all  bis  legions, 

— jEnovAH  is  his  name. 

Days,  Months,  Years,  since  Nature's  birth, 

Shall  revive, —  and  from  all  regions, 
Singling  out  the  sons  of  earth, 

Him  through  all  nature  I  explore, 
Him  in  his  creatures  I  adore, 

With  their  glory  or  disgrace, 
Charge  their  spenders  face  to  face. 

Around,  beneath,  above ; 
But  clearest  in  the  human  mind, 
His  bright  resemblance  when  I  find, 

Every  moment  of  my  being 

Grandeur  with  purity  combined, 

Then  shall  pass  before  mine  eyes  : 

I  most  admire  and  love. 

:r,4                                                                  HUMAN   LIFE 

Oh  !  there  was  One, —  on  earth  a  while 

Who  shall  forbid  the  eye  to  weep, 

He  dwelt;  —  but,  transient  as  a  smile 

That  saw  him,  from  the  ravening  deep, 

That  turns  into  a  tear, 

Pluck'd  like  the  lion's  prey? 

His  beauteous  image  pass'd  us  by ; 

For  ever  bow'd  his  honour'd  head, 

He  came  like  lightning  from  the  sky, 

The  spirit  in  a  moment  fled, 

He  seem'd  as  dazzling  to  the  eye, 

The  heart  of  friendship  cold  and  dead, 

As  prompt  to  disappear. 

The  limbs  a  wreath  of  clay ! 

Mild  in  his  undissembling  mien, 

Revolving  his  mysterious  lot, 

Were  genius,  candour,  meekness  seen ; 

I  mourn  him,  but  I  praise  him  not : 

— The  lips,  that  loved  the  truth ; 

Glory  to  God  be  given, 

The  single  eye,  whose  glance  sublime 

Who  sent  him,  like  the  radiant  bow, 

Look'd  to  eternity  through  time; 

His  covenant  of  peace  to  show; 

The  soul,  whose  hopes  were  wont  to  climb 

Athwart  the  breaking  storm  to  glow, 

Above  the  joys  of  youth. 

Then  vanish  into  heaven. 

Of  old,  before  the  lamp  grew  dark, 

0  Church  !  to  whom  that  youth  was  dear, 

Reposing  near  the  curtain'd  ark, 

The  Angel  of  thy  mercies  here, 

The  child  of  Hannah's  prayer 

Behold  the  path  he  trod, 

Heard,  through  the  temple's  silent  round, 

"A  milky  way"  through  midnight  skies! 

A  living  voice,  nor  knew  the  sound, 

—  Behold  the  grave  in  which  he  lies; 

— That  thrice  alarm'd  him,  ere  he  found 

Even  from  this  dust  thy  prophet  cries, 

The  Lord,  who  chose  him  there.1 

"Prepare  to  meet  thy  GOD." 

Thus  early  call'd,  and  strongly  moved, 

A  prophet  from  a  child,  approved, 

Spencer  his  course  began ; 

II  UMAX    LIFE. 

From  strength  to  strength,  from  grace  to  grace, 

Job,  xiv. 

Swiftest  and  foremost  in  the  race, 

He  carried  victory  in  his  face ; 

How  few  and  evil  are  thy  days, 

He  triumph'd  as  he  ran. 

Man,  of  a  woman  born  ! 

Trouble  and  peril  haunt  thy  ways  : 

How  short  his  day!  —  the  glorious  prize, 

—  Forth  like  a  flower  at  morn 

To  our  slow  hearts  and  failing  eyes, 

The  tender  infant  springs  to  light, 

Appear'd  too  quickly  won  : 

Youth  blossoms  with  the  breeze, 

— The  warrior  rush'd  into  the  field, 

Age,  withering  age,  is  cropt  ere  night, 

With  arm  invincible  to  wield 

—  Man  like  a  shadow  flees. 

The  Spirit's  sword,  the  Spirit's  shield, 

When,  lo  !  the  fight  was  done. 

And  dost  Thou  look  on  such  an  one? 

Will  God  to  judgment  call 

The  loveliest  star  of  evening's  train 

A  worm,  for  what  a  worm  hath  done 

Sets  early  in  the  western  main, 

Against  the  Lord  of  all? 

And  leaves  the  world  in  night; 

As  fail  the  waters  from  the  deep, 

The  brightest  star  of  morning's  host, 

As  summer  brooks  run  dry, 

Scarce  risen,  in  brighter  beams  is  lost: 

Man  lieth  down  in  dreamless  sleep : 

Thus  sank  his  form  on  ocean's  coast, 

—  Our  life  is  vanity. 

Thus  sprang  his  soul  to  light. 

Man  lieth  down,  no  more  to  wake, 
Till  yonder  arching  sphere 

1  1  Sam.  iii. 

THE  VISIBLE  CREATION. 


335 


Shall  with  a  roll  of  thunder  break, 

And  Nature  disappear. 

—  0  !  hide  me,  till  thy  wrath  be  past, 

Thou,  who  canst  kill  or  save  ; 

Hide  me,  where  hope  may  anchor  fast, 

In  my  Redeemer's  grave. 


THE  VISIBLE  CREATION. 

The  God  of  Nature  and  of  Grace 

In  all  his  works  appears  ; 

His  goodness  through  the  earth  we  trace, 

His  grandeur  in  the  spheres. 

Behold  this  fair  and  fertile  globe, 
By  Him  in  wisdom  plann'd; 
'Twas  He  who  girded,  like  a  robe, 
The  ocean  round  the  land. 

Lift  to  the  firmament  your  eye, 
Thither  his  path  pursue  ; 
His  glory,  boundless  as  the  sky, 
O'erwhelms  the  wondering  view. 

He  bows  the  heavens  —  the  mountains  stand 

A  highway  for  their  God  ; 

He  walks  amidst  the  desert  land, 

— 'Tis  Eden  where  He  trod. 

The  forests  in  his  strength  rejoice ; 
Hark  !  on  the  evening  breeze, 
As  once  of  old,  the  Lord  God's  voice 
Is  heard  among  the  trees. 

Here  on  the  hills  He  feeds  his  b^-i  j.-, 

His  flocks  on  yonder  plains  : 

His  praise  is  warbled  by  the  birds ; 

—  0  could  we  catch  their  strains  ! 

—  Mount  with  the  lark,  and  bear  our  song 
Up  to  the  gates  of  light, 

Or  with  the  nightingale  prolong 
Our  numbers  through  the  night ! 

In  every  stream  His  bounty  flows, 

Diffusing  joy  and  wealth  ; 

In  every  breeze  His  spirit  blows, 

—  The  breath  of  life  and  health. 


His  blessings  fall  in  plenteous  showers 
Upon  the  lap  of  earth, 
That  teems  with  foliage,  fruit,  and  flowers, 
And  rings  with  infant  mirth. 

If  God  hath  made  this  world  so  fair, 
Where  sin  and  death  abound, 
How  beautiful  beyond  compare 
Will  Paradise  be  found ! 


SONNET. 

DHTATED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  GAETANA  PASSERINA. 

If  in  the  field  I  meet  a  smiling  flower, 

Methinks  it  whispers,  "  God  created  me, 

And  I  to  Him  devote  my  little  hour, 

In  lonely  sweetness  and  humility." 

If,  where  the  forest's  darkest  shadows  lower, 

A  serpent  quick  and  venomous  I  see, 

It  seems  to  say,—"  I,  too,  extol  the  power 

Of  Him  who  caused  me,  at  his  will,  to  be." 

The  fountain  purling,  and  the  river  strong, 
The  rocks,  the  trees,  the  mountains,  raise  one  song  ; 
"  Glory  to  God  I"  re-echoes  in  mine  ear: 
Faithless  were  I,  in  wilful  error  blind, 
Did  I  not  Him  in  all  his  creatures  find, 
His  voice  through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  ocean 
hear. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED  FROM  THE  ITALIAN  OF  GIAMBATTISTA  COTTA. 

I  saw  the'  eternal  God,  in  robes  of  light, 
Rise  from  his  throne, —  to  judgment  forth  he  came; 
His  presence  pass'd  before  me,  like  the  flame 
That  fires  the  forest  in  the  depth  of  night : 
Whirlwind  and  storm,  amazement  and  affright, 
Compass'd  his  path,  and  shook  all  Nature's  frame, 
When   from   the    heaven   of   heavens,   with    loud 

acclaim, 
To  earth  he  wing'd  his  instantaneous  flight. 


336                                THE  CRUCIFIXION'.— THE  BIBLE.— INSTRUCTION. 

As  some  triumphal  oak,  whose  boughs  have  spread 

—  One  humble  path,  that  never  bends, 

Their  changing  foliage  through  a  thousand  years, 

Narrow,  and  rough,  and  steep,  ascends 

Bows  to  the  rushing  wind  its  glorious  head, 

From  darkness  into  light. 

The  universal  arch  of  yonder  spheres 

Sunk  with  the  pressure  of  its  Maker's  tread, 

Is  there  a  Guide  to  show  that  path  ? 

And  earth's  foundations  quaked  with  mortal  fears. 

The  Bible:  —  ne  alone,  who  hath 

The  Bible,  need  not  stray  : 

Yet  he  who  hath,  and  will  not  give 

That  heavenly  Guide  to  all  that  live, 

SONNET. 

Himself  shall  lose  the  way. 

1815. 

THE    CRUCIFIXION. 
IMITATED   FROM   THE  ITALIAN  OF   CKESCIMDENI. 

INSTRUCTION. 

I  ask'd  the  Heavens, —  "What  foe   to  God  hath 

From  heaven  descend  the  drops  of  dew, 

done 

From  heaven  the  gracious  showers, 

This  unexampled  deed?" — The  Heavens  exclaim, 

Earth's  Winter-aspect  to  renew, 

"'Twas  Man;  —  and  we  in  horror  snatch'd  the  sun 

And  clothe  the  Spring  with  flowers ; 

From  such  a  spectacle  of  guilt  and  shame." 

From  heaven  the  beams  of  morning  flow, 

That  melt  the  gloom  of  night  ; 

I  ask'd  the  S'.'a  :  —  the  Sea  in  fury  boil'd, 

From  heaven  the  evening  breezes  blow, 

And  answer'd  with  his  voice  of  storms,  "'Twas 

Health,  fragrance,  and  delight. 

Man  : 

My  waves  in  panic  at  his  crime  recoil'd, 

Like  genial  dew,  like  fertile  showers, 

Disclosed  the'  abyss,  and  from  the  centre  ran." 

The  words  of  wisdom  fall, 

Awaken  man's  unconscious  powers, 

I  ask'd  the  Earth; — the  Earth  replied,  aghast, 

Strength  out  of  weakness  call : 

'"Twas  Man;  and  such  strange  pangs  my  bosom 

Like  morning-beams  they  strike  the  mind, 

rent, 

Its  loveliness  reveal; 

That  still  I  groan  and  shudder  at  the  past." 

And  softer  than  the  evening  wind 

—  To  Man,  gay,  smiling,  thoughtless  Man  I  went, 

The  wounded  spirit  heal. 

And  ask'd  him  next : — He  turn'd  a  scornful  eye, 

Shook  his  proud  head,  and  deign'd  me  no  reply. 

As  dew  and  rain,  as  light  and  air, 

From  heaven  Instruction  came, 

The  waste  of  Nature  to  repair, 

Kindle  a  sacred  flame ; 

A  flame  to  purify  the  earth, 

Exalt  her  sons  on  high, 

THE  BIBLE. 

And  train  them  for  their  second  birth, — 

Their  birth  beyond  the  sky. 

What  is  the  world  !  —  A  wildering  maze, 

Where  Sin  hath  track'd  ten  thousand  ways, 

Albion  !  on  every  human  soul, 

Her  victims  to  ensnare; 

By  thee  be  knowledge  shed, 

All  broad,  and  winding,  and  aslope, 

Far  as  the  ocean-waters  roll, 

All  tempting  with  perfidious  hope, 

Wide  as  the  shores  are  spread : 

All  ending  in  despair. 

Truth  makes  thy  children  free  at  home; 

Oh  !  that  thy  flag,  unfurl'd, 

Millions  of  pilgrims  throng  those  roads, 

Might  shine,  where'er  thy  children  roam, 

Bearing  their  baubles,  or  their  loads, 

Truth's  banner  round  the  world. 

Down  to  eternal  night; 

London,  1812. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER.  — A  MIDNIGHT  THOUGHT. 


337 


THE  CHRISTIAN  SOLDIER. 

OCCASIONED    BV   THE    SUDDEN   DEATH    OP    THE 

REV.  THOMAS  TAYLOR, 

After  having  declared,  in  bis  last  Sermon,  on  a  preceding 
evening,  that  lie  hoped  to  die  as  an  old  soldier  of  JssDS 
Christ,  with  his  sword  in  his  hand. 

"  Servant  of  God  !  well  done ; 

Rest  from  thy  loved  employ  ; 

The  battle  fought,  the  victory  won, 

Enter  thy  Master's  joy." 

—  The  voice  at  midnight  came  ; 

He  started  up  to  hear : 

A  mortal  arrow  pierced  his  frame 

He  fell,— but  felt  no  fear. 

Tranquil  amidst  alarms, 
It  found  him  in  the  field, 
A  veteran  slumbering  on  his  arms, 
Beneath  his  red-cross  shield : 
His  sword  was  in  his  hand, 
Still  warm  with  recent  fight, 
Ready  that  moment  at  command, 
Through  rock  and  steel  to  smite. 

It  was  a  two-edged  blade, 
Of  heavenly  temper  keen  ; 
And  double  were  the  wounds  it  made, 
Where'er  it  smote  between  : 
Twas  death  to  sin;— 'twas  life 
To  all  that  mourn'd  for  sin; 
It  kindled  and  it  silenced  strife, 
Made  war  and  peace  within. 

Oft,  with  its  fiery  force, 
His  arm  had  quell'd  the  foe, 
And  laid,  resistless  in  his  course, 
The  alien-armies  low. 
Bent  on  such  glorious  toils, 
The  world  to  him  was  loss  ; 
Yet  all  his  trophies,  all  his  spoils, 
He  hung  upon  the  cross. 

At  midnight  came  the  cry, 

"  To  meet  thy  God  prepare  ! " 

He  woke,  and  caught  his  Captain's  eye; 

Then,  strong  in  faith  and  prayer, 

22 


His  spirit,  with  a  bound, 
Burst  its  encumbering  clay  ; 
His  tent  at  sunrise,  on  the  ground, 
A  darken'd  ruin  lay. 

The  pains  of  death  are  past, 

Labour  and  sorrows  cease, 

And,  life's  long  warfare  closed  at  last, 

His  soul  is  found  in  peace. 

Soldier  of  Christ  !  well  done  ; 

Praise  be  thy  new  employ  ; 

And  while  eternal  ages  ruu, 

Rest  in  thy  Saviour's  joy. 


ON  THE  ROYAL  INFANT, 

Still-born,  Nov.  5,  1S17. 

A  throne  on  earth  awaited  thee ; 
A  nation  long'd  to  see  thy  face, 
Heir  to  a  glorious  ancestry, 
And  father  of  a  mightier  race. 

Vain  hope !  that  throne  thou  must  not  fill ; 
Thee  may  that  nation  ne'er  behold : 
Thine  ancient  house  is  heirless  still, 
Thy  line  shall  never  be  unroll'd. 

Yet,  while  we  mourn  thy  flight  from  earth, 
Thine  was  a  destiny  sublime  ; 
Caught  up  to  Paradise  in  birth, 
Pluek'd  by  Eternity  from  Time. 

The  Mother  knew  her  offspring  dead  : 
Oh  !  was  it  grief,  or  was  it  love, 
That  broke  her  heart?  — The  spirit  fled 
To  seek  her  nameless  child  above. 

Led  by  his  natal  star,  she  trod 
The  path  to  heaven  :  —  the  meeting  there, 
And  how  they  stood  before  their  God, 
The  day  of  judgment  shall  declare. 


A  MIDNIGHT  THOUGHT. 

In  a  land  of  strange  delight, 
My  transported  spirit  stray'd  ; 
I  awake  where  all  is  night, 
Silence,  solitude,  and  shade. 


338 


INCOGNITA. 


Is  the  dream  of  Nature  flown  ? 

Is  the  universe  destroy'd, 

Man  extinct,  and  I  alone 

Breathing  through  the  formless  void  ? 

No  :  —  my  soul,  in  God  rejoice  ! 
Through  the  gloom  his  light  I  see, 
In  the  silence  hear  his  voice, 
And  his  hand  is  over  me. 

"When  I  slumber  in  the  tomb, 
He  will  guard  my  resting-place : 
Fearless  in  the  day   of  doom, 
May  I  stand  before  his  face ! 


INCOGNITA. 

ON     VIEWING     THE     PICTURE      OF     AN     UNKNOWN 
LADY. 

WRITTEN  AT  LEAMINGTON,  IN  1817. 

"  She  was  a  phantom  of  delight." — Wordsworth. 

Image  of  One,  who  lived  of  yore  ! 

Hail  to  that  lovely  mien, 
Once  quick  and  conscious,  —  now  no  more 

On  land  or  ocean  seen  ! 
Were  all  earth's  breathing  forms  to  pass 
Before  me  in  Agrippa's  glass,1 
Many  as  fair  as  thou  might  be, 
But,  oh  !  not  one  —  not  one  —  like  Thee. 

Thou  art  no  child  of  Fancy ;  —  Thou 

The  very  look  dost  wear, 
That  gave  enchantment  to  a  brow, 

Wreathed  with  luxuriant  hair; 
Lips  of  the  morn  embathed  in  dew, 
And  eyes  of  evening's  starry  blue  ; 
Of  all  who  e'er  enjoy'd  the  sun, 
Thou  art  the  image  of  but  One. 

And  who  was  she,  in  virgin  prime, 

And  May  of  womanhood, 
Whose  roses  here,  unpluck'd  by  Time, 

In  shadowy  tints  have  stood; 


i  Henry  Cornelius  Agrippa,  of  Xettesheim,  counsellor 
to  Charles  V.,  Emperor  of  Germany, —  the  author  of  ''Oc- 
cult 1'hilosophy,"  and  other  profound  works, —  is  said  to 


While  many  a  winter's  withering  blast 
Hath  o'er  the  dark  cold  chamber  pass'd, 
In  which  her  once-resplendent  form 
Slumher'd  to  dust  beneath  the  storm  ? 

Of  gentle  blood  ;  —  upon  her  birth 

Consenting  planets  smiled, 
And  she  had  seen  those  days  of  mirth 

That  frolic  round  the  child; 
To  bridal  bloom  her  strength  had  sprung. 
Behold  her  beautiful  and  young  ! 
Lives  there  a  record,  which  hath  told 
That  she  was  wedded,  widow'd,  old  ? 

How  long  her  date,  't  were  vain  to  guess 

The  pencil's  cunning  art 
Can  but  a  single  glance  express, 

One  motion  of  the  heart; 
A  smile,  a  blush, —  a  transient  grace 
Of  air,  and  attitude,  and  face  ; 
One  passion's  changing  colours  mix, 
One  moment's  flight  for  ages  fix. 

Her  joys  and  griefs  alike  in  vain 

Would  fancy  here  recall; 
Her  throbs  of  ecstasy  or  pain 

Lull'd  in  oblivion  all  ; 
With  her,  methinks,  life's  little  hour 
Pass'd  like  the  fragrance  of  a  flower, 
That  leaves  upon  the  vernal  wind 
Sweetness  we  ne'er  again  may  find. 

Where  dwelt  she  ?  —  Ask  yon  aged  tree, 
Whose  boughs  embower  the  lawn, 

Whether  the  birds'  wild  minstrelsy 
Awoke  her  here  at  dawn  ? 

Whether  beneath  its  youthful  shade, 

At  noon,  in  infancy  she  play'd  ? 

—  If  from  the  oak  no  answer  come, 

Of  her  all  oracles  are  dumb. 

The  Dead  are  like  the  stars  by  day; 

—  Withdrawn  from  mortal  eye, 
But  not  extinct,  they  hold  their  way 

In  glory  through  the  sky : 


have  shown  to  the  Earl  of  Surrey  the  image  of  his  mis- 
tress Qeraldine  in  a  magical  mirror. 


THE  LITTLE  CLOUD. 


339 


Spirits,  from  bondage  thus  set  free, 
Vanish  amidst  immensity, 
Where  human  thought,  like  human  sight, 
Fails  to  pursue  their  trackless  flight. 

Somewhere  within  created  space, 

Could  I  explore  that  round, 
In  bliss,  or  woe,  there  is  a  place 

Where  she  might  still  be  found; 
And  oh  !  unless  those  eyes  deceive, 
I  may,  I  must,  I  will  believe, 
That  she,  whose  charms  so  meekly  glow, 
la  what  she  only  seem'd  below  ;  — 

An  angel  in  that  glorious  realm 

Where  God  himself  is  King: 
—  But  awe  and  fear,  that  overwhelm 

Presumption,  check  my  wing; 
Nor  dare  imagination  look 
Upon  the  symbols  of  that  book, 
Wherein  eternity  enrols 
The  judgment  on  departed  souls. 

Of  Her  of  whom  these  pictured  lines 

A  faint  resemblance  form  ; 
Fair  as  the  second  rainbow  shines 

Aloof  amid  the  storm;  — 
Of  Her,  this  "shadow  of  a  shade," 
Like  its  original,  must  fade, 
And  She,  forgotten  when  unseen, 
Shall  be  as  if  she  ne'er  had  been. 

Ah  !  then,  perchance,  this  dreaming  strain 

Of  all  that  ere  I  sung, 
A  lorn  memorial  may  remain, 

When  silent  lies  my  tongue  : 
When  shot  the  meteor  of  my  fame, 
Lost  the  vain  echo  of  my  name, 
This  leaf,  this  fallen  leaf,  may  be 
The  only  trace  of  her  and  me. 

With  One  who  lived  of  old,  my  song 

In  lowly  cadence  rose : 
To  One  who  is  unborn,  belong 

The  accents  of  its  close  : 
Ages  to  come,  with  courteous  ear, 
Some  youth  my  warning  voice  may  hear ! 
And  voices  from  the  dead  should  be 
The  warnings  of  eternity. 


When  these  weak  lines  thy  presence  greet, 

Reader !  if  I  am  blest, 
Again,  as  spirits,  may  we  meet 

In  glory  and  in  rest ! 
If  not, —  and  /have  lost  my  way, 
Here  part  we, —  go  not  Thou  astray  : 
No  tomb,  no  verse,  my  story  tell ; 
Once,  and  for  ever,  Fare  Thee  well ! 


THE  LITTLE  CLOUD. 

Seen  in  a  country  excursion  among  the  woods  and  rocks 
of  WharnclifTe  and  the  adjacent  park  and  pleasure- 
grounds  of  Wortley  Hall,  the  seat  of  the  Right  Honour- 
able Lord  WharnclifTe,  near  Sheffield,  on  the  30th  day  of 
June,  1818. 

The  summer  sun  was  in  the  west, 
Yet  far  above  his  evening  rest  ; 
A  thousand  clouds  in  air  display'd 
Their  floating  isles  of  light  and  shade, — 
The  sky,  like  ocean's  channels,  seen 
In  long  meandering  streaks  between. 

Cultured  and  waste,  the  landscape  lay, 
Woods,  mountains,  valleys  stretch'd  away, 
And  throng'd  the'  immense  horizon  round, 
With  heaven's  eternal  girdle  bound; 
From  inland  towns,  eclipsed  with  smoke, 
Steeples  in  lonely  grandeur  broke  ; 
Hamlets,  and  cottages,  and  streams 
By  glimpses  caught  the  casual  gleams, 
Or  blazed  in  lustre  broad  and  strong 
Beyond  tho  picturing  powers  of  song : 
O'er  all  the  eye  enchanted  ranged, 
While  colours,  forms,  proportions  changed, 
Or  sunk  in  distance  undefined, 
Still  as  our  devious  course  inclined, 
—  And  oft  we  paused,  and  look'd  behind. 

One  little  cloud,  and  only  one, 
Seem'd  the  pure  offspring  of  the  sun, 
Flung  from  his  orb  to  show  us  here 
What  clouds  adorn  hia  hemisphere  ; 
Unmoved,  unchanging  in  the  gale, 
That  bore  the  rest  o'er  hill  and  dale, 
Whose  shadowy  shapes,  with  lights  around, 
Like  living  motions,  swept  the  ground, 


340                                                           THE  LITTLE  CLOUD. 

This  little  cloud,  and  this  alone, 

Yet,  when  its  brilliancy  decay'd. 

Long  in  the  highest  ether  shone; 

The  eye  still  linger'd  on  the  shade, 

Gay  as  a  warrior's  banner  spread, 

And,  watching  till  no  longer  seen, 

Its  sunward  margin  ruby-red, 

Loved  it  for  what  it  once  had  been. 

Green,  purple,  gold,  and  every  hue 

That  glitters  in  the  morning  dew, 

That  cloud  was  beautiful, —  was  one 

Or  glows  along  the  rainbow's  form, — 

Among  a  thousand  round  the  sun  ; 

The  apparition  of  the  storm. 

The  thousand  shared  the  common  lot  ; 

Deep  in  its  bosom,  diamond-bright, 
Behind  a  fleece  of  pearly  white, 
It  seem'd  a  secret  glory  dwelt, 

They  came, —  they  went,  —  they  were  forgot: 
This  fairy  form  alone  impress'd 
Its  perfect  image  in  my  breast, 

Whose  presence,  while  unseen,  was  felt : 
Like  Beauty's  eye,  in  slumber  hid 
Beneath  a  half-transparent  lid, 

And  shines  as  richly  blazon'd  there 
As  in  its  element  of  air. 

From  whence  a  sound,  a  touch,  a  breath, 
Might  startle  it,  —  as  life  from  death. 

The  day  on  which  that  cloud  appear'd, 
Exhilarating  scenes  endear'd  ; 

■ — The  sunshine  on  the  hills,  the  floods; 

Looks,  words,  emotions  of  surprise 

The  breeze,  the  twilight  of  the  woods  ; 

Welcomed  the  stranger  to  our  eyes  : 
Was  it  the  phoenix,  that  from  earth 

Nature  in  every  change  of  green, 
Heaven  in  unnumber'd  aspects  seen; 

In  flames  of  incense  sprang  to  birth  ? 

Health,  spirits,  exercise,  release 

Had  ocean  from  his  lap  let  fly 

From  noise  and  smoke;  twelve  hours  of  peace; 

His  loveliest  halcyon  through  the  sky  ? 

No  fears  to  haunt,  no  cares  to  vex; 

No  :  —  while  we  gaze,  the  pageant  grew 

Friends,  young  and  old,  of  either  sex; 

A  nobler  object  to  our  view ; 

Converse  familiar,  sportive,  kind, 

We  deem'd,  if  heaven  with  earth  would  hold 
Communion  as  in  days  of  old, 

Where  heart  meets  heart,  mind  quickeus  mind, 
And  words  and  thoughts  are  all  at  play, 

Such,  on  his  journey  down  the  sphere, 
Benignant  Raphael  might  appear 

Like  chi  drcn  on  a  holyday; 

—  Till  themes  celestial  rapt  the  soul 

In  splendid  mystery  conceal'd, 
Yet  by  his  rich  disguise  reveal'd  : 

In  adoration  o'er  the  pole, 

Where  stars  are  darkness  in  His  sight 

—  That  buoyant  vapour,  in  mid-air, 
An  angel  in  its  folds  might  bear, 
Who,  through  the  curtain  of  his  shrine. 
Betray'd  his  lineaments  divine. 

Who  reigns  invisible  in  light, 

High  above  all  created  things, 

The  Lord  of  Lords,  the  King  of  Kings ! 

Faith,  which  could  thus  on  wing  sublime 

The  wild,  the  warm  illusion  stole, 

Outsoar  the  bounded  flight  of  time; 

Like  inspiration,  o'er  the  soul, 

Hope  full  of  immortality, 

Till  thought  was  rapture,  language  hung 

And  God  in  all  the  eye  could  see  ; 

Silent  but  trembling  on  the  tongue; 

—  These,  these  endear'd  that  day  to  mc, 

And  fancy  almost  hoped  to  hail 

And  made  it,  in  a  thousand  ways, 

The  seraph  rushing  through  his  veil, 
Or  hear  an  awful  voice  proclaim 

A  day  among  a  thousand  days, 

That  share  with  clouds  the  common  lot; 

The  embassy  on  which  he  came. 

They  come,  —  they  go, —  they  are  forgot : 
This,  like  that  plaything  of  the  sun, 

But  ah  !  no  minister  of  grace 

—  The  little,  lonety,  lovely  one, — 

Show'd  from  the  firmament  his  face, 

This  lives  within  me  :  this  shall  be 

Nor,  borne  aloof  on  balanced  wings, 
Reveal'd  unutterable  things. 

A  part  of  my  eternity. 

The  sun  went  clown  :  —  the  vision  pass'd  ; 

Amidst  the  cares,  the  toils,  the  strife, 

The  cloud  was  but  a  cloud  at  last; 

The  weariness  and  waste  of  life, 

THE    ALPS. 


341 


That  day  shall  memory  oft  restore, 
And  in  a  moment  live  it  o'er. 
When,  with  a  lightning  flash  of  thought, 
Morn,  noon,  and  eve  at  once  are  brought 
(As  through  the  vision  of  a  trance) 
All  in  the  compass  of  a  glance. 

Oh  !  should  I  reach  a  world  above, 
And  sometimes  think  of  those  I  love, 
Of  things  on  earth  too  dearly  prized 
(Nor  yet  by  saints  in  heaven  despised), 
Though  spirits  made  perfect  may  lament 
Life's  holier  hours  as  half  mis-spent, 
Methinks  I  could  not  turn  away 
The  fond  remembrance  of  that  day, 
The  bright  idea  of  that  cloud 
(Survivor  of  a  countless  crowd). 
Without  a  pause,  perhaps  a  sigh, 
To  think  such  loveliness  should  die, 
And  clouds  and  days  of  storm  and  gloom 
Scowl  on  Man's  passage  to  the  tomb. 
—  Not  so  : —  I  feel  I  have  a  heart, 
Blessings  to  share,  improve,  impart, 
In  blithe,  severe,  or  pensive  mood, 
At  home,  abroad,  in  solitude, 
Whatever  clouds  are  on  the  wing, 
Whatever  day  the  seasons  bring. 

That  is  true  happiness  below 
Which  conscience  cannot  turn  to  woe; 
And  though  such  happiness  depends 
Neither  on  clouds,  nor  days,  nor  friends, 
When  friends,  and  days,  and  clouds  unite, 
And  kindred  chords  are  tuned  aright, 
The  harmonies  of  heaven  and  earth, 
Through  eye,  ear,  intellect,  give  birth 
To  joys  too  exquisite  to  last, 

—  And  yet  more  exquisite  when  past! 
When  the  soul  summons  by  a  spell 
The  ghosts  of  pleasures  round  her  cell, 
In  saiutlier  forms  than  erst  they  wore, 
And  smiles  benigner  than  before, 
Each  loved,  lamented  scene  renews, 
With  warmer  touches,  tenderer  hues; 
Recalls  kind  words  for  ever  flown, 
But  echoed  in  a  soften'd  tone; 
Wakes  with  new  pulses  in  the  breast, 
Feelings  forgotten  or  at  rest; 

—  The  thought  how  fugitive  and  fair, 
How  dear  and  precious  such  tilings  were  ! 


That  thought,  with  gladness  more  refined, 
Deep,  and  transporting,  thrills  the  mind, 
Than  all  those  pleasures  of  an  hour, 
When  must  the  soul  confess'd  their  power. 
Bliss  in  possession  will  not  last: 
Remember'd  joys  are  never  past; 
At  once  the  fountain,  stream,  and  sea, 
They  were,— they  are,— they  yet  shall  be. 


THE  ALPS: 


Part  I.     Day. 

The  mountains  of  this  glorious  land 
Are  conscious  beings  to  mine  eye, 
When  at  the  break  of  day  they  stand 
Like  giants  looking  through  the  sky, 
To  hail  the  sun's  unrisen  ear, 
That  gilds  their  diadems  of  snow; 
While  one  by  one,  as  star  by  star, 
Their  peaks  in  ether  glow. 

Their  silent  presence  fills  my  soul, 
When,  to  the  horizontal  ray, 
The  many-tinctured  vapours  roll 
In  evanescent  wreaths  away, 
And  leave  them  naked  on  the  scene, 
The  emblems  of  eternity, 
The  same  as  they  have  ever  been, 
And  shall  for  ever  be. 


Yet,  through  the  valley  while  I  range, 
Their  cliffs,  like  images  in  dreams, 
Colour  and  shape  and  station  change; 
Here  crags  and  caverns,  woods  and  streams, 
And  seas  of  adamantine  ice, 
With  gardens,  vineyards,  fields  embraced, 
Open  a  way  to  Paradise, 
Through  all  the  splendid  waste. 

The  goats  are  hanging  on  the  rocks, 
Wide  through  their  pastures  roam  the  herds; 
Peace  on  the  uplands  feeds  her  flocks, 
Till  suddenly  the  king  of  birds 


342 


THE   ALPS. 


Pouncing  a  lamb,  they  start  for  fear ; 
He  bears  his  bleating  prize  on  high ; 
The  well-known  plaint  his  nestlings  hear, 
And  raise  a  ravening  cry. 

The  sun  in  morning  freshness  shines; 
At  noon  behold  his  orb  o'ercast; 
Hollow  and  dreary  o'er  the  pines, 
Like  distant  ocean,  moans  the  blast; 
The  mountains  darken  at  the  sound, 
Put  on  their  armour,  and  anon, 
In  panoply  of  clouds  wrapt  round, 
Their  forms  from  sight  are  gone. 

Hark  !  war  in  heaven  !  —  the  battle-shout 
Of  thunder  rends  the  echoing  air; 
Lo  !  war  in  heaven  !  —  thick-flashing  out 
Through  torrent-rains  red  lightnings  glare, 
As  through  the  Alps,  with  mortal  ire, 
At  once  a  thousand  voices  raised, 
And  with  a  thousand  swords  of  fire 
At  once  in  conflict  blazed. 


Part  II.     Night. 

Come,  golden  Evening,  in  the  west 
Enthrone  the  storm-dispelling  sun, 
And  let  the  triple  rainbow  rest 
O'er  all  the  mountain-tops  :—  'T  is  done  ; 
The  deluge  ceases  ;  bold  and  bright 
The  rainbow  shoots  from  hill  to  hill ; 
Down  sinks  the  sun ;  on  presses  night  : 
—  Mont  Blanc  is  lovely  still. 

There  take  thy  stand,  my  spirit ;  — spread 
The  world  of  shadows  at  thy  feet ; 
And  mark  how  calmly,  overhead, 
The  stars  like  saints  in  glory  meet  : 
While  hid  in  solitude  sublime, 
Methinks  I  muse  on  Nature's  tomb, 
And  hear  the  passing  foot  of  Time 
Step  through  the  gloom. 

All  in  a  moment,  crash  on  crash, 
From  precipice  to  precipice, 
An  avalanche's  ruins  dash 
Down  to  the  nethermost  abyss; 
Invisible,  the  ear  alone 
Follows  the  uproar  till  it  dies  ; 


Echo  on  echo,  groan  for  groan, 
From  deep  to  deep  replies. 

Silence  again  the  darkness  seals, — 
Darkness  that  may  be  felt;  —  but  soon 
The  silver-clouded  east  reveals 
The  midnight  spectre  of  the  moon  ; 
In  half-eclipse  she  lifts  her  horn, 
Yet,  o'er  the  host  of  heaven  supreme, 
Brings  the  faint  semblance  of  a  morn 
With  her  awakening  beam. 

Ha!  at  her  touch,  these  Alpine  heights 

Unreal  mockeries  appear; 

With  blacker  shadows,  ghastlier  lights, 

Enlarging  as  she  climbs  the  sphere  ; 

A  crowd  of  apparitions  pale  ! 

1  hold  my  breath  in  chill  suspense, 

—  They  seem  so  exquisitely  frail, — 

Lest  they  should  vanish  hence. 

I  breathe  again,  I  freely  breathe; 

Lake  of  Geneva!  thee  I  trace, 

Like  Dian's  crescent  far  beneath, 

And  beautiful  as  Dian's  face. 

Pride  of  this  land  of  liberty  ! 

All  that  thy  waves  reflect  I  love; 

Where  heaven  itself,  brought  down  to  thee, 

Looks  fairer  than  above. 

Safe  on  thy  banks  again  I  stray, 
The  trance  of  poesy  is  o'er, 
And  I  am  here  at  dawn  of  day, 
Gazing  on  mountains  as  before; 
For  all  the  strange  mutations  wrought 
Were  magic  feats  of  my  own  mind; 
Thus,  in  the  fairy-land  of  thought, 
Whate'er  I  seek  I  find. 

Yet,  0  ye  everlasting  hills  ! 
Buildings  of  Gon  not  made  with  hands, 
Whose  word  performs  whate'er  He  wills, 
Whose  word,  though  ye  shall  perish,  stands; 
Can  there  be  eyes  thet  look  on  you, 
Till  tears  of  rapture  make  them  dim, 
Xor  in  his  works  the  Maker  view, 
Then  lose  his  works  in  him  ? 

By  me,  when  I  behold  Him  not, 
Or  love  Him  not  when  I  behold, 


QUESTIONS  AND  ANSWERS.— YOUTH  RENEWED.                                343 

Be  all  I  ever  knew  forgot ; 

Rise,  glitter,  break;  yet,  Bubble,  tell  me  why? 

My  pulse  stand  still,  my  heart  grow  cold; 

1  — To  show  the  course  of  all  beneath  the  sky. 

Transform'd  to  ice,  'twixt  earth  and  sky, 

On  yonder  cliff  my  form  be  seen, 

Stay,  Meteor,  stay  thy  falling  fire  ! 

That  all  may  ask,  but  none  reply, 

— No,  thus  shall  all  the  host  of  heaven  expire. 

What  my  offence  hath  been. 

1822. 

Ocean,  what  law  thy  chainless  waves  confined  ? 

— That  which  in  Reason's  limits  holds  thy  mind. 
Time,  whither  dost  thou  flee? 

QUESTIONS  AND  ANSWERS. 

— I  travel  to  Eternity. 

Flowers,  wherefore  do  ye  bloom  ? 

— We  strew  thy  pathway  to  the  tomb. 

Eternity,  what  art  thou, —  say  ? 

— Time  past,  time  present,  time  to  come, — to-day. 

Stars,  wherefore  do  ye  rise  ? 

— To  light  thy  spirit  to  the  skies. 

Ye  Dead,  where  can  your  dwelling  be  ? 

— The  house  for  all  the  living:  —  come  and  see. 

Fair  Moon,  why  dost  thou  wane  ? 

— That  I  may  wax  again. 

0  Life,  what  is  thy  breath  ? 

— A  vapour  lost  in  death. 

0  Sun,  what  makes  thy  beams  so  bright? 

—The  Word  that  said,  "Let  there  be  light." 

0  Death,  how  ends  thy  strife? 

Planets,  what  guides  you  in  your  course? 

— In  everlasting  life. 

— Unseen,  unfelt,  unfailing  force. 

0  Grave,  where  is  thy  victory  ? 

Nature,  whence  sprang  thy  glorious  frame? 

— Ask  Him  who  rose  again  for  me. 

— My  Maker  call'd  me,  and  I  came. 

0  Light,  thy  subtle  essence  who  may  know  ? 

— Ask  not;  for  all  things  but  myself  I  show. 

YOUTH   RENEWED. 

What  is  yon  arch  which  everywhere  I  see  ? 

— The  sign  of  omnipresent  Deity. 

Spring-flowers,  spring-birds,  spring-breezes, 

Are  felt,  and  heard,  and  seen ; 

Where  rests  the  horizon's  all-embracing  zone  ? 

Light  trembling  transport  seizes 

— Where   earth,    God's   footstool,  touches   heaven, 

My  heart, —  with  sighs  between; 

his  throne. 

These  old  enchantments  fill  the  mind 

With  scenes  and  seasons  far  behind: 

Te  Clouds,  what  bring  ye  in  your  train  ? 

Childhood,  its  smiles  and  tears, 

— God's  embassies, —  storm,  lightning,  hail,  or  rain. 

Youth,  with  its  flush  of  years, 

Its  morning  clouds  and  dewy  prime, 

Winds,  whence  and  whither  do  ye  blow  ? 

More  exquisitely  touch'd  by  Time. 

— Thou  must  be  born  again  to  know. 

Fancies  again  are  springing, 

Bow  in  the  cloud,  what  token  dost  thou  bear  ? 

Like  May-flowers  in  the  vales ; 

— That  Justice  still  cries  "strike,"  and  Mercy  "spare." 

While  hopes,  long  lost,  are  singing, 

From  thorns,  like  nightingales; 

Dews  of  the  morning,  wherefore  were  ye  given? 

And  kindly  spirits  stir  my  blood, 

—To  shine  on  earth,  then  rise  to  heaven. 

Like  vernal  airs  that  curl  the  flood : 

344                                                  THE  BRIDAL  AND  THE  BURIAL. 

There  falls  to  manhood's  lot 

A  joy,  which  youth  has  not, 

FRIENDS. 

A  dream  more  beautiful  than  truth, 

— Returning  Spring  renewing  Youth. 

Friend  after  friend  departs  : 
Who  hath  not  lost  a  friend  ? 

Thus  sweetly  to  surrender 

There  is  no  union  here  of  hearts, 

The  present  for  the  past; 

That  finds  not  here  an  end : 

In  sprightly  mood,  yet  tender, 

Were  this  frail  world  our  only  rest, 

Life's  burden  down  to  east, 

Living  or  dying,  none  were  blest. 

— This  is  to  taste,  from  stage  to  stage, 

Youth  on  the  lees  refined  by  age : 

Beyond  the  flight  of  Time, 

Like  wine  well  kept  and  long, 

Beyond  this  vale  of  death, 

Heady,  nor  harsh,  nor  strong, 

There  surely  is  some  blessed  clime, 

With  every  annual  eup,  is  quaff'd 

Where  life  is  not  a  breath, 

A  richer,  purer,  mellower  draught. 

Nor  life's  affections  transient  fire, 

Harrowgate,  1S25. 

Whose  sparks  fly  upward  to  expire. 

There  is  a  world  above, 
Where  parting  is  unknown  ; 

A  whole  eternity  of  love, 

THE  BRIDAL  AND  THE  BURIAL. 

Form'd  for  the  good  alone  ; 
And  faith  beholds  the  dying  here 
Translated  to  that  happier  sphere. 

"Blessed  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on; 

Blessed  is  the  corpse  which  the  rain  rains  on." 

Thus  star  by  star  declines, 
Till  all  are  pass'd  away, 

I  saw  thee  young  and  beautiful, 

As  morning  high  and  higher  shines 

I  saw  thee  rich  and  gay, 

To  pure  and  perfect  day  ; 

In  the  first  blush  of  womanhood, 

Nor  sink  those  stars  in  empty  night, 

Upon  thy  wedding-day : 

—  They  hide  themselves  in  heaven's  own  1 

ght. 

The  church-bells  rang, 

1824. 

And  the  little  children  sang, — 

"Flowers,  flowers,  kiss  her  feet; 

Sweets  to  the  sweet  ; 

The  winter's  past,  the  rains  are  gone; 

A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT 

Blessed  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on." 

OX   THE    DEATH    OF    HER   INFANT   DATJGHTER 

I  saw  thee  poor  and  desolate, 

I  loved  thee,  Daughter  of  my  heart ; 

I  saw  thee  fade  away, 

My  Child,  I  loved  thee  dearly; 

In  broken-hearted  widowhood, 

And  though  we  only  met  to  part, 

Before  thy  locks  were  grey ; 

—  How  sweetly  !  how  severely  !  — 

The  death-bell  rang, 

Nor  life  nor  death  can  sever 

And  the  little  children  sang, — 

My  soul  from  thine  for  ever. 

"Lilies,  dress  her  winding-sheet; 

Sweets  to  the  sweet; 

Thy  days,  my  little  one,  were  few, — 

The  summer's  past,  the  sunshine  gone; 

An  Angel's  morning-visit, 

Blessed  is  the  corpse  which  the  rain  rains  on." 

That  came  and  vanish'd  with  the  dew; 
'T  was  here,  't  is  gone,  where  is  it  ? 

"Blessed  is  the  bride  whom  the  sun  shines  on ; 

Yet  didst  thou  leave  behind  thee 

Blessed  is  the  corpse  which  the  rain  rains  on." 

A  clue  for  love  to  find  thee. 

A  MOTHER'S  LAMENT. —  TOE  DAISY  IN  INDIA. 


345 


The  eye,  the  lip,  the  cheek,  the  brow, 
The  hands  stretch'd  forth  in  gladness, 
All  life.  joy.  rapture,  beauty  now, 
Then  dash'd  with  infant  sadness, 
Till,  brightening  by  transition, 
Return'd  the  fairy  vision  :  — 

Where  are  they  now?  —  those  smiles,  those 

tears, 
Thy  Mother's  darling  treasure  ? 
She  sees  them  still,  and  still  she  hears 
Thy  tones  of  pain  or  pleasure, 
To  her  quick  pulse  revealing 
Unutterable  feeling. 

Hush'd  in  a  moment  on  her  breast, 

Life,  at  the  well-spring  drinking, 

Then  cradled  on  her  lap  to  rest, 

In  rosy  slumber  sinking, 

Thy  dreams  —  no  thought  can  guess  them; 

And  mine  —  no  tongue  express  them. 

For  then  this  waking  eye  could  see, 

In  many  a  vain  vagary, 

The  things  that  never  wont  to  be, 

Imaginations  airy  ; 

Fond  hopes  that  mothers  cherish, 

Like  still-born  babes  to  perish. 

Mine  perish'd  on  thy  early  bier; 

No —  changed  to  forms  more  glorious, 

They  flourish  in  a  higher  sphere, 

O'er  time  and  death  victorious  ; 

Yet  would  these  arms  have  chain'd  thee, 

And  long  from  heaven  detaiu'd  thee. 

Sarah  !  my  last,  my  youngest  love, 

The  crown  of  every  other ! 

Though  thou  art  born  in  heaven  above, 

I  am  thine  only  Mother, 

Nor  will  affection  let  me 

Believe  thou  canst  forget  me. 

Then, —  thou  in  heaven,  and  I  on  earth, — 
May  this  one  hope  delight  us, 
That  thou  wilt  hail  my  second  birth 
When  death  shall  re-unite  us, 
Where  worlds  no  more  can  sever 
Parent  and  child  for  ever. 


THE  WIDOW  AND  THE  FATHERLESS. 

Well,  thou  art  gone,  and  I  am  left; 
But,  oh  !  how  cold  and  dark  to  me 
This  world,  of  every  charm  bereft, 
Where  all  was  beautiful  with  thee  ! 

Though  I  have  seen  thy  form  depart 
For  ever  from  my  widow'd  eye, 
I  hold  thee  in  mine  inmost  heart ; 
There,  there  at  least,  thou  canst  not  die. 

Farewell  on  earth;  Heaven  claim'd  its  own; 
Yet,  when  from  me  thy  presence  went, 
I  was  exchanged  for  God  alone  : 
Let  dust  and  ashes  learn  content. 

Ha!  those  small  voices  silver  sweet! 
Fresh  from  the  fields  my  babes  appear; 
They  fill  my  arms,  they  clasp  my  feet; 
— "  Oh  !  could  your  father  see  us  here  ! " 


THE  DAISY  IN  INDIA. 

The  simple  history  of  these  stanzas  is  the  following.  A  friend 
of  mine,  a  scientific  botanist,  residing  near  Sheffield,  had 
sent  a  package  of  sundry  kin. Is  of  British  seeds  to  the 
learned  and  venerable  Doctor  William  Carey,  one  of  the 
first  Baptist  Missionaries  to  India,  where  they  had  esta- 
blished themselves  in  the  sin:dl  Danish  settlement  of 
Scrampore.  in  the  province  of  Bengal.  Some  of  tin-  -nils 
had  lieen  enclosed  in  a  hair,  containing  a  portion  of  their 
native  earth.  In  March,  1821,  a  letter  of  acknowledgment 
was  received  by  his  correspondent  from  the  Doctor,  who 
was  himself  well  skilled  in  botany,  and  had  a  garden  rirh 
in  plants  both  tropical  and  European.  In  this  enclosure 
he  was  wont  to  spend  an  hour  every  morning,  before  he 
entered  upon  those  labours  and  studies  which  have  ren- 
dered his  name  illustrious  both  at  home  and  abroad,  us 
one  of  the  most  accomplished  of  oriental  scholars,  and  a 
translator  of  the  Holy  Scriptures  into  many  of  the  Hin- 
doo languages.  In  the  letter  afore-mentioned,  which 
was  shown  to  me,  the  good  man  says.  —  "  That  I  might  be 
sure  not  to  lose  any  part  of  your  valuable  present,  I 
shook  the  bagover  a  patch  of  earth  in  a  shady  [dace:  on 
visiting  which,  a  few  days  afterwards,  I  found  springing 
up.  to  my  inexpressible  delight,  a  b,lh.i  perennis  of  our 
English  pastures.  I  know  not  that  I  ever  enjoyed,  since 
leaving  Europe,  a  simple  pleasure  so  exquisite  as  the 
sight  of  this  English  Daisy  afforded  me  ;  not  having  seen 
one  for  upwards  of  thirty  years,  and  never  expecting  to 
see  one  again." 

On  the  perusal  of  this  passage,  the  following  stanzas  seemed 
to  spring  up  almost  spontaneously  in  my  mind,  as  the 


346 


THE  DROUGHT. 


"little  English  Flower"  in  the  good  Doctor's  garden, 
whom  I  imagined  to  be  thus  addressing  it  on  its  sudden 
appearance,— With  great  care  and  attention  he  was  able 
to  perpetuate  "the  Daisy  in  India  "  as  an  annual  only, 
raised  by  seed  from  season  to  season.  It  may  be  observ- 
ed that,  amidst  the  luxuriance  of  tropical  vegetation, 
there  are  comparatively  few  small  plants,  like  the  multi- 
farious progeny  of  our  native  Flora. 
There  i-  a  beautiful  coincidence  between  a  fact  and  a  fiction 
in  this  circumstance.  Among  the  many  natural  and 
striking  expedients  by  which  the  ingenious  author  of 
Robinson  Crusoe  contrives  to  supply  his  hero  on  the  deso- 
late island  with  necessaries  and  comforts  of  life,  not 
indigenous,  we  are  informed  that  Crusoe  one  day,  long 
after  his  shipwreck  and  residence  there,  perceived  some 
delicate  blades  of  vegetation  peeping  forth,  after  the 
rains,  on  a  patch  of  ground  near  his  dwelling-place.  Not 
knowing  what  they  were,  he  watched  their  growth  from 
day  to  day,  till  he  ascertained,  to  his  ''inexpressible 
delight."  that  they  were  plants  of  some  kind  of  English 
corn.  lie  then  recollected  having  shaken  out  on  that 
spot  the  dusty  refuse  of  a  "  bag"  which  had  been  used  to 
hold  grain  for  the  fowls  on  shipboard.  '■'With  great 
care  and  attention"  he  was  enabled  to  preserve  the  pre- 
cious stalks  till  the  full  corn  ripened  in  the  ear.  lie 
reaped  the  first  fruits  of  this  spontaneous  harvest,  sowed 
them  again,  and.  till  his  release  from  captivity  there,  ate 
bread  in  his  lonely  abode, 

'■  riaecd  far  amid  the  melancholy  main." 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower ! 
My  mother-country's  white  and  red, 
In  rose  or  lily,  till  this  hour, 
Xever  to  me  such  beauty  spread: 
Transplanted  from  thine  island-bed, 
A  treasure  in  a  grain  of  earth, 
Strange  as  a  spirit  from  the  dead, 
Thine  embryo  sprang  to  birth. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower! 
Whose  tribes,  beneath  our  natal  skies, 
Shut  close  their  leaves  while  vapours  lower; 
But,  when  the  sun's  gay  beams  arise, 
With  unabash'd  but  modest  eyes, 
Follow  his  motion  to  the  west. 
Nor  cease  to  gaze  till  daylight  dies, 
Then  fold  themselves  to  rest. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower  ! 
To  this  resplendent  hemisphere, 
Where  Flora's  giant  offspring  tower 
In  gorgeous  liveries  all  the  year: 
Thou,  only  thou,  art  little  here, 
Like  worth  unfriended  and  unknown, 
Yet  to  my  British  heart  more  dear 
Than  all  the  torrid  zone. 


Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower! 

Of  early  scenes  beloved  by  me, 

While  happy  in  my  father's  bower, 

Thou  shalt  the  blithe  memorial  be  ; 

The  fairy  sports  of  infancy, 

Youth's  golden  age,  and  manhood's  prime, 

Home,  country,  kindred,  friends, — with  thee 

I  find  in  this  fair  clime. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower  ! 
I'll  rear  thee  with  a  trembling  hand  : 
Oh,  for  the  April  sun  and  shower, 
The  sweet  Way  dews  of  that  fair  land, 
Where  Daisies,  thick  as  star-light,  stand 
In  every  walk  !  — that  here  may  shoot 
Thy  scions,  and  thy  buds  expand, 
A  hundred  from  one  root. 

Thrice  welcome,  little  English  flower  ! 
To  me  the  pledge  of  hope  unseen  ; 
When  sorrow  would  my  soul  o'erpower, 
For  joys  that  were,  or  might  have  been, 
I'll  call  to  mind,  how,  fresh  and  green, 
I  saw  thee  waking  from  the  dust; 
Then  turn  to  heaven  with  brow  serene, 
And  place  in  God  my  trust. 
1822. 


THE  DROUGHT. 

■WH1TTEX    IS    THE    SUMMER   OP    1826. 

Hosea,  ii,  21,  22. 

What  strange,  what  fearful  thing  hath  come  to 

pass? 
The  ground  is  iron,  and  the  heavens  are  brass ; 
Man  on  the  withering  harvests  casts  his  eye, 
"  Give  me  your  fruits  in  season,  or  I  die ;  " 
The  timely  fruits  implore  their  parent  Earth, 
"Where  is  thy  strength  to  bring  us  forth  to  birth  ?" 
The  Earth,  all  prostrate,  to  the  Clouds  complains, 
"  Send  to  my  heart  your  fertilising  rains  :  " 
The  Clouds  invoke  the  Heavens,  —  "Collect,  dis- 
pense 
Through  us  your  quickening,  healing  influence;" 


A   SEA    PIECE. 


347 


The  Heavens  to  Him  that  made  theui  raise  their 

moan, 
"Command  thy  blessing,  and  it  shall  be  done :" 
The  Lord  is  in  his  temple  :  —  hush'd  and  still, 
The  suppliant  Universe  awaits  his  will. 

He  speaks ;  and  to  the  Clouds  the  Heavens  dis- 
pense, 
With  lightning-speed,  their  genial  influence; 
The  gathering,  breaking  Clouds   pour  down    their 

rains, 
Earth  drinks  the  bliss  through  all  her  eager  veins  ; 
From  teeming  furrows  start  the  Fruits  to  birth, 
And  shake  their  treasures  on  the  lap  of  Earth  ; 
Man  sees  the  harvest  grow  beneath  his  eye, 
Turns,  and  looks  up  with  rapture  to  the  sky  : 
All  that  have  breath  and  being  now  rejoice ; 
All  Nature's  voices  blend  in  one  great  voice, 
"  Glory  to  God,  who  thus  Himself  makes  known  !  " 

—  When  shall  all  tongues  confess  Him  God  alone  ? 

Lord  !  as  the  rain  comes  down  from  Heaven, — 
the  rain 
Which  waters  Earth,  nor  thence  returns  in  vain, 
But  makes  the  tree  to  bud,  the  grass  to  spring, 
And  feeds  and  gladdens  every  living  thing, — 
So  may  thy  word,  upon  a  world  destroy 'd, 
Come  down  in  blessing,  and  return  not  void ; 
So  may  it  come  in  universal  showers, 
And  fill  Earth's  dreariest  wilderness  with  flowers, 

—  With  flowers  of  promise  fill  the  world,  within 
Man's  heart,  laid  waste  and  desolate  by  sin ; 
Where  thorns  and  thistles  curse  the  infested  ground, 
Let  the  rich  fruits  of  righteousness  abound  ; 

And  trees  of  life,  for  ever  fresh  and  green, 

Flourish  where  trees  of  death  alone  have  been ; 

Let  Truth  look  down  from  heaven,  Hope  soar  above, 

Justice  and  Mercy  kiss,  Faith  work  by  Love; 

Nations  new-born  their  fathers'  idols  spurn ; 

The  Ransom'd  of  the  Lord  with  songs  return  ; 

Heralds  the  year  of  Jubilee  proclaim; 

Bow  every  knee  at  the  Redeemer's  name; 

O'er  lands,  with  darkness,  thraldom,  guilt,  o'erspread, 

In  light,  joy,  freedom,  be  the  Spirit  shed  ; 

Speak    Thou    the    word :    to    Satan's    power   say 

"  Cease," 
But  to  a  world  of  pardon'd  sinners,  "  Peace." 

—  Thus   in   thy  grace,  Loud    God,  Thyself  make 

known ; 
Then  shall  all  tongues  confess  Thee  God  alone. 


A  SEA  PIECE. 

IN    THREE     SONNETS. 
Scene. —  Bridlington  Quay,  1S2-4. 
I. 
At  nightfall,  walking  on  the  cliff-erowu'd  shore, 
Where  sea  and  sky  were  in  each  other  lost; 
Dark  ships  were  scudding  through  the  wild  uproar 
Whose  wrecks  ere  morn  must  strew  the  dreary  coast; 
I  mark'd  one  well-raoor'd  vessel  tempest-toss'd, 
Sails  reef'd,  helm  lash'd,  a  dreadful  siege  she  bore. 
Her  deck  by  billow  after  billow  cross'd, 
While  every  moment  she  might  be  no  more : 
Yet  firmly  anehor'd  on  the  nether  sand, 
Like  a  chain'd  Lion  ramping  at  his  foes, 
Forward  and  rearward  still  she  plunged  and  rose, 
Till  broke  her  cable  ;  —  then  she  fled  to  land, 
With  all  the  waves  in  chase;  throes  following  throes; 
She   'scaped, —  she    struck, —  she   stood  upon   the 
strand. 

ii. 
The  morn  was  beautiful,  the  storm  gone  by ; 
Three  days  had  pass'd ;  I  saw  the  peaceful  main, 
One  molten  mirror,  one  illumined  plane, 
Clear  as  the  blue,  sublime,  o'erarching  sky ; 
On  shore  that  lonely  vessel  caught  mine  eye, 
Her  bow  was  seaward,  all  equipt  her  train, 
Yet  to  the  sun  she  spread  her  wings  in  vain, 
Like  a  caged  Eagle,  impotent  to  fly ; 
There  fix'd  as  if  for  ever  to  abide ; 
Far  down  the  beach  had  roll'd  the  low  neap-tide, 
Whose  mingling  murmur  faintly  lull'd  the  ear : 
"Is  this,"  methought,  "  is  this  the  doom  of  pride, 
Check'd  in  the  onset  of  thy  brave  career, 
Ingloriously  to  rot  by  piecemeal  here?" 

in. 
Spring-tides  return'd,  and  Fortune  smiled ;  the  bay 
Received  the  rushing  ocean  to  its  breast; 
While  waves  on  waves  innumerably  prest, 
Seem'd,  with  the  prancing  of  their  proud  array, 
Sea-horses,  flash'd  with  foam,  and  snorting  spray; 
Their  power  and  thunder  broke  that  vessel's  rest; 
Slowly,  with  new  expanding  life  possest, 
To  her  own  element  she  glid  away  ; 
Buoyant  and  bounding  like  the  polar  Whale, 
That  takes  his  pastime  ;  every  joyful  sail 
Was  to  the  freedom  of  the  wiud  unfurl'd, 
While  right  and  left  the  parted  surges  curl'd: 
—  Go,  gallant  Bark  !  with  such  a  tide  and  gale, 
I  '11  pledge  thee  to  a  voyage  round  the  world. 


348 


ROBERT    BURNS. 


ROBERT  BURNS. 

What  bird,  in  beauty,  flight,  or  song, 
Can  with  the  Bard  compare, 
Who  sang  as  sweet,  and  soar'd  as  strong, 
As  ever  child  of  air  ? 

His  plume,  his  notes,  his  form,  could  Burns 
For  whim  or  pleasure  change  ; 
He  was  not  one,  but  all  by  turns, 
With  transmigration  strange. 

The  Blackbird,  oracle  of  spring, 
AVhen  flow'd  his  moral  lay  : 
The  Swallow  wheeling  on  the  wing, 
Capriciously  at  play : 

The  Humming-bird,  from  bloom  to  bloom, 
Inhaling  heavenly  balm; 
The  Raven,  in  the  tempest's  gloom; 
The  Halcyon,  in  the  calm : 

In  "auld  Kirk  Alloway,"  the  Owl, 
At  witching  time  of  night; 
By  "  bonnie  Doon,"  the  earliest  Fowl 
That  earoll'd  to  the  light. 

He  was  the  Wren  amidst  the  grove, 
When  in  his  homely  vein; 
At  Bannockburn  the  Bird  of  Jove, 
With  thunder  in  his  train : 

The  Woodlark,  in  his  mournful  hours  ; 
The  Goldfinch,  in  his  mirth  ; 
The  Thrush,  a  spendthrift  of  his  powers, 
Enrapturing  heaven  and  earth; 

The  Swan,  in  majesty  and  grace, 
Contemplative  and  still; 
But  roused, —  no  Falcon,  in  the  chase, 
Could  like  his  satire  kill. 

The  Linnet  in  simplicity, 
In  tenderness  the  Dove; 
But  more  than  all  beside  was  he 
The  Nightingale  in  love. 


Oli  !  had  he  never  stoop'd  to  shame, 
Nor  lent  a  charm  to  vice, 
How  had  Devotion  loved  to  name 
That  Bird  of  Paradise  ! 

Peace  to  the  dead  !  —  In  Scotia's  choir 
Of  Minstrels  great  and  small, 
He  sprang  from  his  spontaneous  fiVe, 
The  Phoenix  of  them  all. 

1S20. 


A  THEME   FOR  A  POET. 


Written  in  contemplation  of  a  poem  on  the  evangelisation 
of  one  of  the  most  degraded  tribes  of  heathens.  This 
the  Author  some  years  afterwards  attempted,  and  partly 
executed,  in  -Greenland,''  in  five  cantos  of  which  the 
following  were  the  opening  lines,  but  withdrawn,  as  in- 
applicable to  the  unfinished  work,  when  it  was  publish- 
ed:— 

Give  me  a  theme  to  grace  an  Angel's  tongue, 
A  theme  to  which  a  lyre  was  never  strung: 
Barbarian  hordes,  by  Satan's  craft  enthrall'd, 
From  chains  to  freedom,  guilt  to  glory  eall'd; 
The  deeds  of  men  unfriended  and  unknown, 
Sent  forth  by  Him  who  loves  and  saves  his  own, 
With  faithful  toil  a  barren  land  to  bless. 
And  feed  his  Hocks  amid  the  wilderness. 

These  lines  were  afterwards  adopted  as  a  motto  to  the  se- 
cond volume  of  the  last  edition  of  Cnuil,~ 
including  the  history  of  the  Missions  of  the  Moravian 
Brethren  there,  which  was  begun  in  the  year  1733.    i^Seo 
also  the  notes  to  '•  Greenland,"  p.  101. 

The  arrow  that  shall  lay  me  low 

Was  shot  from  Death's  unerring  bow, 

The  moment  of  my  breath; 

And  every  footstep  I  proceed, 

It  tracks  me  with  increasing  speed; 

I  turn, —  it  meets  me, — Death 

Has  given  such  impulse  to  that  dart, 

It  points  for  ever  at  my  heart. 


And  soon  of  me  it  must  be  said, 
That  I  have  lived,  that  I  am  dead  ; 
Of  all  I  leave  behind. 
A  few  may  weep  a  little  while, 


A  THEME  FOR  A  POET.                                                            340 

Then  bless  my  memory  with  a  smile: 

Transcendent  Masters  of  the  lyre  ! 

What  monument  of  mind 

Shall  I  bequeath  to  deathless  Fame, 

Not  to  your  honours  I  aspire; 
Humbler,  yet  higher,  views 

That  after-times  may  love  my  name  ? 

Have  touch'd  my  spirit  into  flame  : 

The  pomp  of  fiction  I  disclaim  ; 

Let  Southey  sing  of  war's  alarms, 

Fair  Truth  !  be  thou  my  muse ; 

The  pride  of  battle,  din  of  arms, 

Reveal  in  splendour  deeds  obscure, 

The  glory  and  the  guilt, — ■ 

Of  nations  barb'rously  enslaved, 

Abase  the  proud,  exalt  the  poor. 

Of  realms  by  patriot  valour  saved, 
Of  blood  insanely  spilt, 
And  millions  sacrificed  to  fate, 
To  make  one  little  mortal  great. 

I  sing  the  men  who  left  their  home, 
Amidst  barbarian  hordes  to  roam, 
Who  land  and  ocean  cross'd, 
Led  by  a  load-star,  mark'd  on  high 

Let  Scott,  in  wilder  strains,  delight 
To  chant  the  Lady  and  the  Knight, 
The  tournament,  the  chase, 
The  wizard's  deed  without  a  name, 

By  Faith's  unseen,  all-seeing  eye, — 
To  seek  and  save  the  lost; 
Where'er  the  curse  on  Adam  spread, 
To  call  his  offspring  from  the  dead. 

Perils  by  ambush,  flood,  and  flame : 
Or  picturesquely  trace 
The  hills  that  form  a  world  on  high, 
The  lake  that  seems  a  downward  sky. 

Strong  in  the  great  Redeemer's  name, 
They  bore  the  Cross,  despised  the  shame; 
And,  like  their  Master  here, 
Wrestled  with  danger,  pain,  distress, 

Let  Byron,  with  untrembling  hand, 
Impetuous  foot,  and  fiery  brand 
Lit  at  the  flames  of  hell, 
Go  down  and  search  the  human  heart, 

Hunger,  and  cold,  and  nakedness, 
And  every  form  of  fear : 
To  feel  his  love  their  only  joy, 
To  tell  that  love  their  sole  employ. 

Till  fiends  from  every  corner  start, 

Their  crimes  and  plagues  to  tell; 

0  Thou,  who  wast  in  Bethlehem  born, 

Then  let  him  fling  the  torch  away, 

The  Man  of  sorrows  and  of  scorn, 

And  sun  his  soul  in  heaven's  pure  day. 

Jesus,  the  sinners'  Friend! 

—  0  Thou,  enthroned  in  filial  right, 

Let  Wordsworth  weave,  in  mystic  rhyme, 

Feelings  ineffably  sublime, 

And  sympathies  unknown ; 

Yet  so  our  yielding  breasts  enthral, 

Above  all  creature-power  and  might  ; 
Whose  kingdom  shall  extend, 
Till  earth,  like  heaven,  thy  name  shall  fill, 
And  men,  like  angels,  do  thy  will :  — 

His  Genius  shall  possess  us  all, 

His  thoughts  become  our  own, 

Thou,  whom  I  love,  but  cannot  see, 

And,  strangely  pleased,  we  start  to  find 

My  Lord,  my  God  !  look  down  on  me; 

Such  hidden  treasures  in  our  mind. 

My  low  affections  raise ; 

The  spirit  of  liberty  impart, 

Let  Campbell's  sweeter  numbers  flow 
Through  every  change  of  joy  and  woe; 
Hope's  morning  dreams  display, 
The  Pennsylvanian  cottage  wild, 

Enlarge  my  soul,  inflame  my  heart, 
And,  while  I  spread  thy  praise, 
Shine  on  my  path,  in  mercy  shine, 
Prosper  my  work,  and  make  it  thine ! 

The  frenzy  of  O'Connor's  child, 

Or  Linden's  dreadful  day  ; 

And  still  in  each  new  form  appear 

To  every  Muse  ami  (irace  more  dear. 

350 


NIGHT.— MEET  AGAIN. 


NIGHT. 

Night  is  the  time  for  rest;  — 

How  sweet,  when  labours  close, 

To  gather  round  an  aching  breast 

The  curtain  of  repose, 

Stretch  the  tired  limbs,  and  lay  the  head 

Down  on  our  own  delightful  bed ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  dreams  ;  — 

The  gay  romance  of  life, 

When  truth  that  is,  and  truth  that  seems, 

Mix  iu  fantastic  strife  ; 

Ah  !  visions  less  beguiling  far 

Than  waking  dreams  by  daylight  are  ! 

Night  is  the  time  for  toil;  — 

To  plough  the  classic  field, 

Intent  to  find  the  buried  spoil 

Its  wealthy  furrows  yield ; 

Till  all  is  ours  that  sages  taught, 

That  poets  sang,  and  heroes  wrought. 

Night  is  the  time  to  weep;  — 

To  wet  with  unseen  tears 

Those  graves  of  memory,  where  sleep 

The  joys  of  other  years ; 

Hopes,  that  were  angels  at  their  birth, 

But  died  when  young  like  things  of  earth. 

Night  is  the  time  to  watch ;  — 
O'er  ocean's  dark  expanse, 
To  hail  the  Pleiades,  or  catch 
The  full  moon's  earliest  glance, 
That  brings  into  the  home-sick  mind 
All  we  have  loved  and  left  behind. 

Night  is  the  time  for  care;  — 

Brooding  on  hours  misspent, 

To  see  the  spectre  of  Despair 

Come  to  our  lonely  tent; 

Like  Brutus,  'midst  his  slumbering  host, 

Summon'd  to  die  by  Caesar's  ghost. 

Night  is  the  time  to  think;  — 
When,  from  the  eye,  the  soul 

1  The  seven  following  pieces  were  written  for  t;  Select 
Foreign  Airs,''  published  some  time  ago  under  the  title  of 
"Polyhymnia.'"  which  accounts  for  the  peculiar  rhythm 


Takes  flight,  and,  on  the  utmost  brink 
Of  yonder  starry  pole, 
Dis'cerns  beyond  the  abyss  of  night 
The  dawn  of  uncreated  light. 

Night  is  the  time  to  pray  ;  — 

Our  Saviour  oft  withdrew 

To  desert  mountains  far  away  ; 

So  will  his  followers  do, 

Steal  from  the  throng  to  haunts  untrod, 

And  commune  there  alone  with  God. 

Night  is  the  time  for  Death  ; — 
When  all  around  is  peace, 
Calmly  to  yield  the  weary  breath, 
From  sin  and  suffering  cease, 
Think  of  heaven's  bliss,  and  give  the  sign 
To  parting  friends; — such  death  be  mine! 
Harrowgate,  Sept.  1821. 


MEET   AGAIN!1 

Joyful  words, —  we  meet  again  ! 
Love's  own  language,  comfort  darting 
Through  the  souls  of  friends  at  parting: 
Life  in  death, —  we  meet  again  ! 

While  we  walk  this  vale  of  tears, 
Compass'd  round  with  care  and  sorrow, 
Gloom  to-day,  and  storm  to-morrow, 
"  Meet  again  ! "  our  bosom  cheers. 

Far  in  exile  when  we  roam, 
O'er  our  lost  endearments  weeping, 
Lonely,  silent  vigils  keeping, 
"Meet  again  !"  transports  us  home. 

When  this  weary  world  is  past, 
Happy  they  whose  spirits  soaring, 
Vast  eternity  exploring, 
"Meet  again"  in  heaven  at  last. 

adopted  in  several  of  them.  The  first  four  were  para- 
phrased from  the  German ;  the  words  of  the  remaining 
three  are  original. 


VIA  CRUCIS,  VIA  LUCIS 

.—  GERMAN  WAR-SONG.                                    351 

VIA  CRUCIS,  VIA  LUCIS. 

THE  PILGRIM. 

Nigiit  turns  to  day:  — 

How  blest  the  Pilgrim,  who  in  trouble 

When  sullen  darkness  lowers, 

Can  lean  upon  a  bosom  friend  ; 

And  heaven  and  earth  are  hid  from  sight, 

Strength,  courage,  hope  with  him  redouble, 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 

When  foes  assail,  or  griefs  impend ! 

Ere  long  the  opening  flowers, 

Care  flees  before  his  footsteps,  straying, 

With  dewy  eyes,  shall  shine  in  light. 

At  daybreak,  o'er  the  purple  heath; 

He  plucks  the  wild  flowers  round  him  playing, 

Storms  die  in  calms:  — 

And  binds  their  beauty  in  a  wreath. 

When  over  land  and  ocean 

Roll  the  loud  chariots  of  the  wind, 

More  dear  to  him  the  fields  and  mountains, 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 

When  with  his  friend  abroad  he  roves, 

The  voice  of  wild  commotion 

Rests  in  the  shade  near  sunny  fountains, 

Proclaims  tranquillity  behind. 

Or  talks  by  moonlight  through  the  groves : 

For  him  the  vine  expands  its  clusters, 

Winter  wakes  spring:  — 

Spring  wakes  for  him  her  woodland  quire; 

When  icy  blasts  are  blowing 

Yea,  when  the  storm  of  winter  blusters, 

O'er  frozen  lakes,  through  naked  trees, 

'T  is  summer  round  his  evening  fire. 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 

All  beautiful  and  glowing, 

In  good  old  age  serenely  dying, 

May  float  in  fragrance  on  the  breeze. 

When  all  he  loved  forsakes  his  view, 

Sweet  is  affection's  voice  replying, 

War  ends  in  peace  :  — 

"  I  follow  soon,"  to  his  "Adieu  ! ' 

Though  dread  artillery  rattle, 

Even  then,  though  earthly  ties  are  riven, 

And  ghastly  corses  load  the  ground, 

The  spirit's  union  will  not  end ; 

Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 

—  Happy  the  man  whom  Heaven  hath  given, 

Where  groan'd  the  field  of  battle, 

In  life  and  death,  a  faithful  friend. 

The  song,  the  dance,  the  feast  go  round. 
Toil  brings  repose  :  — 

With  noon-tide  fervours  beating, 

GERMAN  WAR-SONG.1 

When  droop  thy  temples  o'er  thy  breast, 
Cheer  up,  cheer  up; 
Grey  twilight,  cool  and  fleeting, 
Wafts  on  its  wing  the  hour  of  rest. 

Heaven  speed  the  righteous  sword, 
And  freedom  be  the  word  ! 
Come,  brethren,  hand  in  hand, 
Fight  for  your  father-land  ! 

Death  springs  to  life :  — 

Though  brief  and  sad  thy  story, 
Thy  years  all  spent  in  care  and  gloom, 
Look  up,  look  up  ; 
Eternity  and  glory 

Germania  from  afar 
Invokes  her  sons  to  war; 
Awake!  put  forth  your  powers, 
And  victory  must  be  ours. 

Dawn  through  the  portals  of  the  tomb. 

On  to  the  combat,  on  ! 

Go  where  your  sires  have  gone ; 
Their  might  unspent  remains, 

Their  pulse  is  in  our  veins. 

i  The  simple  and  sublime  original  of  these  stanzas,  with 
the  fine  air  by  Hummel,  became  the  national  song  of  Ger- 
many, and  was  sung  by  the  soldiers  especially,  during  the 

latter  campaigns  of  the  war,  when  Buonaparte  was  twice 
dethroned,  and  Europe  finally  delivered  from  French  pre- 
dominance. 

On  to  the  battle,  on  ! 
Rest  will  lie  sweet  anon  ; 
The  slave  may  yield,  may  fly,— 
We  conquer,  or  we  die  ! 

0  Liberty  !  thy  form 

Shines  through  the  battle-storm; 

Away  with  fear,  away ! 

Let  justice  win  the  day. 


REMINISCENCES. 

Where  are  ye  with  whom  in  life  I  started, 

Dear  companions  of  my  golden  days  ? 

Ye  are  dead,  estranged  from  me,  or  parted, 

—  Elown,  like  morning  clouds,  a  thousand  ways. 

Where  art  thou,  in  youth  my  friend  or  brother, 
Tea,  in  soul  my  friend  and  brother  still  ? 
Heaven  received  thee,  and  on  earth  none  other 
Can  the  void  in  my  lorn  bosom  fill. 

Where  is  she,  whose  looks  were  love  and  gladness  ? 

—  Love  and  gladness  I  no  longer  see ! 

She  is  gone;  and,  since  that  hour  of  sadness, 
Nature  seems  her  sepulchre  to  me. 

Where  am  I?  —  life's  current  faintly  flowing 
Brings  the  welcome  warning  of  release; 
Struck  with  death,  ah  !  whither  am  I  going  ? 
All  is  well, —  my  spirit  parts  in  peace. 


THE  AGES  OF  MAN. 

Youth,  fond  youth  !  to  thee,  in  life's  gay  morning, 

New  and  wonderful  are  heaven  and  earth  ! 

Health  the  hills,  content  the  fields  adorning, 

Nature  rings  with  melody  and  mirth; 

Love  invisible,  beneath,  above, 

Conquers  all  things;  all  things  yield  to  love. 

Time,  swift  time,  from  years  their  motion  stealing, 
Unperceived  hath  sober  manhood  brought; 
Truth,  her  pure  and  humble  forms  revealing, 
Peoples  fancy's  fairy-land  with  thought; 


Then  the  heart,  no  longer  prone  to  roam, 
Loves,  loves  best,  the  quiet  bliss  of  home. 

Age,  old  age,  in  sickness,  pain,  and  sorrow, 
Creeps  with  lengthening  shadow  o'er  the  scene; 
Life  was  yesterday,  'tis  death  to-morrow, 
And  to-day  the  agony  between  : 
Then  how  longs  the  weary  soul  for  thee, 
Bright  and  beautiful  eternity  ! 


ASPIRATIONS  OP  YOUTH. 

Higher,  higher  will  we  climb 

Up  the  mount  of  Glory, 

That  our  names  may  live  through  time 

In  our  country's  story  ; 

Happy,  when  her  welfare  calls, 

He  who  conquers,  he  who  falls. 

Deeper,  deeper  let  us  toil 
In  the  mines  of  knowledge  ; 
Nature's  wealth  and  learning's  spoil 
Win  from  school  and  college  ; 
Delve  we  there  for  richer  gems 
Than  the  stars  of  diadems. 

Onward,  onward  will  we  press 
Through  the  path  of  duty; 
Virtue  is  true  happiness, 
Excellence  true  beauty; 
Minds  are  of  supernal  birth, 
Let  us  make  a  heaven  of  earth. 


Close  and  closer  then  we  knit 
Hearts  and  hands  together, 
Where  our  fire-side  comforts  sit 
In  the  wildest  weather: 
Oh !  they  wander  wide,  who  roam, 
For  the  joys  of  life,  from  home. 

Nearer,  dearer  bands  of  love 
Draw  our  souls  in  union, 
To  our  Father's  house  above, 
To  the  saints'  communion  ; 
Thither  every  hope  ascend, 
There  may  all  our  labours  end. 


THE  FALLING  LEAF.— ON  A  TULIP-ROOT. 


S53 


A   HERMITAGE. 

Whose  is  this  humble  dwelling-place, 
The  flat  turf-roof  with  flowers  o'ergrown  ? 
Ah  !  here  the  tenant's  name  I  trace, 
Moss-cover'd,  on  the  threshold  stone. 

Well,  he  has  peace  within  and  rest, 
Though  nought  of  all  the  world  beside ; 
Yet,  stranger,  deem  not  him  unblest, 
Who  knows  not  avarice,  lust,  or  pride. 

Nothing  he  asks,  nothing  he  cares 
For  all  that  tempts  or  troubles  round; 
He  craves  no  feast,  no  finery  wears, 
Nor  once  o'ersteps  his  narrow  bound. 

No  need  of  light,  though  all  be  gloom, 
To  cheer  his  eye,— that  eye  is  blind; 
No  need  of  fire  in  this  small  room, 
He  recks  not  tempest,  rain,  or  wind. 

No  gay  companion  here  ;  no  wife 
To  gladden  home  with  true-love  smiles : 
No  children, —  from  the  woes  of  life 
To  win  him  with  their  artless  wiles. 

Nor  joy,  nor  sorrow,  enter  here, 
Nor  throbbing  heart,  nor  aching  limb; 
No  sun,  no  moon,  no  stars  appear, 
And  man  and  brute  are  nought  to  him. 

This  dwelling  is  a  hermit's  cave, 
With  space  alone  for  one  poor  bed  ; 
This  dwelling  is  a  mortal's  grave, 
Its  sole  inhabitant  is  dead. 
1822. 


THE  FALLING  LEAF. 

Were  I  a  trembling  leaf, 
On  yonder  stately  tree, 
After  a  season  gay  and  brief, 
Condemn'd  to  fade  and  flee: 

I  should  be  loth  to  fall 

Beside  the  common  way, 

Weltering  in  mire,  and  spurn'd  by  all, 

Till  trodden  down  to  clay. 

23 


Nor  would  I  choose  to  die 

All  on  a  bed  of  grass, 

Where  thousands  of  my  kindred  lie, 

And  idly  rot  in  mass. 

Nor  would  I  like  to  spread 
My  thin  and  wither'd  face 
In  hortus  siccus,  pale  and  dead, 
A  mummy  of  my  race. 

No, —  on  the  wings  of  air 
Might  I  be  left  to  fly, 
I  know  not  and  I  heed  not  where, 
A  waif  of  earth  and  sky  ! 

Or  flung  upon  the  stream, 

Curl'd  like  a  fairy  boat, 

As  through  the  changes  of  a  dream, 

To  the  world's  end  to  float! 

Who  that  hath  ever  been, 

Could  bear  to  be  no  more-? 

Yet  who  would  tread  again  the  scene 

He  trod  through  life  before  ? 

On,  with  intense  desire, 
Man's  spirit  will  move  on  ; 
It  seems  to  die,  yet,  like  heaven's  fire, 
It  is  not  quench'd,  but  gone. 
Matlock,  1822. 


ON  PLANTING  A  TULIP-ROOT. 

Here  lies  a  bulb,  the  child  of  earth, 
Buried  alive  beneath  the  clod, 
Ere  long  to  spring,  by  second  birth, 
A  new  and  nobler  work  of  God. 

'Tis  said  that  microscopic  power 
Might  through  its  swaddling  folds  descry 
The  infant-image  of  the  flower, 
Too  exquisite  to  meet  the  eye. 

This,  vernal  suns  and  rains  will  swell, 
Till  from  its  dark  abode  it  peep, — 
Like  Venus  rising  from  her  shell, 
Amidst  the  spring-tide  of  the  deep. 


354 


INSCRIPTION  UNDER  THE  PICTURE  OF  A  NEGRO-WOMAN. 


Two  shapely  leaves  will  first  unfold, 
Then,  on  a  smooth  elastic  stem, 
The  verdant  bud  shall  turn  to  gold, 
And  open  in  a  diadem. 

Not  one  of  Flora's  brilliant  race 
A  form  more  perfect  can  display ; 
Art  could  not  feign  more  simple  grace, 
Nor  Nature  take  a  line  away. 

Yet,  rich  as  morn  of  many  a  hue, 

When  flushing  clouds  through  darkness  strike, 

The  tulip's  petals  shine  in  dew, 

All  beautiful — but  none  alike. 

Kings,  on  their  bridal,  might  unrobe 

To  lay  their  glories  at  its  foot ; 

And  queens  their  sceptre,  crown,  and  globe, 

Exchange  for  blossom,  stalk,  and  root. 

Here  could  I  stand  and  moralise  ; 
Lady,  I  leave  that  part  to  thee  : 
Be  thy  next  birth  in  Paradise, 
Thy  life  to  come  eternity  ! 
1824. 


what  then? 


INSCRIPTION 

UNDER  THE 

PICTURE  OF  AN  AGED  NEGRO-WOMAN. 

Art  thou  a  woman  t — so  am  I;  and  all 
That  woman  can  be,  I  have  been,  or  am ; 
A  daughter,  sister,  consort,  mother,  widow, 
Whiche'er  of  these  thou  art,  0  be  the  friend 
Of  one  who  is  what  thou  canst  never  be ! 
Look  on  thyself,  thy  kindred,  home,  and  country, 
Then  fall  upon  thy  knees,  and  cry  "Thank  God, 
An  English  woman  cannot  be  a  SLAVE  I" 

Art  thou   a   man? — Oh!   I   have  known,  have 
loved, 
And  lost,  all  that  to  woman  man  can  be; 
A  father,  brother,  husband,  son,  who  shared 
My  bliss  in  freedom,  and  my  woe  in  bondage. 
— A  childless  widow  now,  a  friendless  slave, 
What  shall  I  ask  of  thee,  since  I  have  nought 
To  lose  but  life's  sad  burthen ;  nought  to  gain 
But  heaven's  repose? — these  are  beyond  thy  power: 


Me  thou  canst  neither  wrong  nor  help 
Go  to  the  bosom  of  thy  family, 
Gather  thy  little  children  round  thy  knees, 
Gaze  on  their  innocence ;  their  clear,  full  eyes, 
All  fix'd  on  thine;  and  in  their  mother,  mark 
The  loveliest  look  that  woman's  face  can  wear, 
Her  look  of  love,  beholding  them  and  thee: 
Then,  at  the  altar  of  your  household  joys, 
Vow  one  by  one,  vow  altogether,  vow 
With  heart  and  voice,  eternal  enmity 
Against  oppression  by  your  brethren's  hands  ; 
Till  man  nor  woman  under  Britain's  laws, 
Nor  son  nor  daughter  born  within  her  empire, 
Shall  buy,  or  sell,  or  hold,  or  be,  a  slave. 
Scarborough,  Dec.  1826. 


THOUGHTS  AND  IMAGES. 

"Come  like  shadows,  so  depart." — Macbeth. 

The  Diamond,  in  its  native  bed, 
Hid  like  a  buried  star  may  lie, 
Where  foot  of  man  must  never  tread, 
Seen  only  by  its  Maker's  eye : 
And  though  imbued  with  beams  to  grace 
His  fairest  work  in  woman's  face, 
Darkling,  its  fire  may  fill  the  void, 
Where  fix'd  at  first  in  solid  night, 
Nor,  till  the  world  shall  be  destroy'd, 
Sparkle  one  moment  into  light. 

The  Plant,  upspringing  from  the  seed, 
Expands  into  a  perfect  flower; 
The  virgin-daughter  of  the  mead, 
Woo'd  by  the  sun,  the  wind,  the  shower : 
In  loveliness  beyond  compare, 
It  toils  not,  spins  not,  knows  no  care; 
Train'd  by  the  secret  hand,  that  brings 
All  beauty  out  of  waste  and  rude, 
It  blooms  its  season,  dies,  and  flings 
Its  germs  abroad  in  solitude. 

Almighty  skill,  in  ocean's  caves, 
Lends  the  light  Nautilus  a  form 
To  tilt  along  the  Atlantic  waves, 
Fearless  of  rock,  or  shoal,  or  storm  ; 
But,  should  a  breath  of  danger  sound, 
With  sails  quick  furl'd  it  dives  profound, 


THOUGHTS  AND  IMAGES. 


?,5o 


And  far  beneath  the  tempest's  path, 
In  coral  grots,  defies  the  foe, 
That  never  brake,  in  heaviest  wrath, 
The  sabbath  of  the  deep  below. 

Up  from  his  dream,  on  twinkling  wings. 
The  Sky-lark  soars  amid  the  dawn ; 
Yet,  while  in  Paradise  he  sings, 
Looks  down  upon  the  quiet  lawn, 
Where  flutters,  in  his  little  nest, 
More  love  than  music  ne'er  cxpress'd; 
Then,  though  the  Nightingale  may  thrill 
The  soul  with  keener  ecstasy, 
The  merry  bird  of  morn  can  fill 
All  Nature's  bosom  with  his  glee. 

The  Elephant,  embower'd  in  woods, 
Coeval  with  their  trees  might  seem, 
As  though  he  drank  from  Indian  floods 
Life  in  a  renovating  stream  : 
Ages  o'er  him  have  come  and  fled  ; 
Midst  generations  of  the  dead, 
His  bulk  survives  to  feed  and  range, 
Where  ranged  and  fed  of  old  his  sires ; 
Nor  knows  advancement,  lapse,  or  change, 
Beyond  their  walks,  till  he  expires. 

Gem,  flower,  and  fish,  the  bird,  the  brute, 
Of  every  kind  occult  or  known 
(Each  exquisitely  form'd  to  suit 
Its  humble  lot,  and  that  alone), 
Through  ocean,  earth,  and  air  fulfil, 
Unconsciously,  their  Maker's  will, 
Who  gave,  without  their  toil  or  thought, 
Strength,  beauty,  instinct,  courage,  speed ; 
While  through  the  whole  his  pleasure  wrought 
Whate'er  his  wisdom  had  decreed. 

But  Man,  the  master-piece  of  God, 
Man,  in  his  Maker's  image  framed, — 
Though  kindred  to  the  valley's  clod, 
Lord  of  this  low  creation  named, — 
In  naked  helplessness  appears, 
Child  of  a  thousand  griefs  and  fears  : 
To  labour,  pain,  and  trouble  born, 
Weapon,  nor  wing,  nor  sleight  hath  he  ; 
Yet,  like  the  sun,  he  brings  his  morn, 
And  is  a  king  from  infancy. 

For,  him  no  destiny  hath  bound 
To  do  what  others  did  before, 


Pace  the  same  dull  perennial  round, 
And  be  a  man,  and  be  no  more; 
A  man  ?  — a  self-will'd  piece  of  earth, 
Just  as  the  lion  is  by  birth  ; 
To  hunt  his  prey,  to  wake,  to  sleep, 
His  father's  joys  and  sorrows  share, 
His  niche  in  Nature's  temple  keep, 
And  leave  his  likeness  in  his  heir !  — 

No :  infinite  the  shades  between 

The  motley  millions  of  our  race; 

No  two,  the  changing  moon  hath  seen 

Alike  in  purpose,  or  in  face  : 

Yet  all  aspire  beyond  their  fate; 

The  least,  the  meanest,  would  be  great; 

The  mighty  future  fills  the  mind 

That  pants  for  more  than  earth  can  give  : 

Man,  to  this  narrow  sphere  confined, 

Dies  when  he  but  begins  to  live. 

Oh  !  if  there  be  no  world  on  high 
To  yield  his  powers  unfetter'd  scope ; 
If  man  be  only  born  to  die, 
Whence  this  inheritance  of  hope  ? 
Wherefore  to  him  alone  were  lent 
Riches  that  never  can  be  spent? 
Enough,  not  more,  to  all  the  rest, 
For  life  and  happiness,  was  given  ; 
To  Man,  mysteriously  unblest, 
Too  much  for  any  state  but  heaven. 

It  is  not  thus  ;  —  it  cannot  be, 
That  one  so  gloriously  endow'd 
With  views  that  reach  eternity, 
Should  shine  and  vanish  like  a  cloud : 
Is  there  a  God  ?  —  all  Nature  shows 
There  is, —  and  yet  no  mortal  knows  ; 
The  mind  that  could  this  truth  conceive, 
AVhich  brute  sensation  never  taught, 
No  longer  to  the  dust  would  cleave, 
But  grow  immortal  with  the  thought. 
1819. 


A  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 

Emblem  of  eternity, 
Unbeginning,  endless  sea! 
Let  me  launch  my  soul  on  thee. 


356 


A  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 


Sail,  nor  keel,  nor  helm,  nor  oar, 

Need  I,  ask  I,  to  explore 

Thine  expanse  from  shore  to  shore. 

By  a  single  glance  of  thought, 

Thy  whole  realm's  before  me  brought, 

Like  the  universe,  from  nought. 

All  thine  aspects  now  I  view, 

Ever  old,  yet  ever  new, 

—  Time  nor  tide  thy  power  subdue. 

All  thy  voices  now  I  hear; 
Sounds  of  gladness,  grandeur,  fear, 
Meet  and  mingle  in  mine  ear. 

All  thy  wonders  are  reveal'd, 
Treasures  hidden  in  thy  field, 
From  the  birth  of  nature  seal'd. 

But  thy  depths  I  search  not  now, 
Nor  thy  liquid  surface  plow, 
With  a  billow-breaking  prow. 

Eager  fancy,  unconfined, 
In  a  voyage  of  the  mind, 
Sweeps  along  thee  like  the  wind. 

Here  a  breeze,  I  skim  thy  plain ; 
There  a  tempest,  pour  amain 
Thunder,  lightning,  hail  and  rain. 

Where  the  surges  never  roll 
Round  the  undiseover'd  pole, 
Thence  set  out,  my  venturous  soul ! 

See  o'er  Greenland,  cold  and  wild, 

Rocks  of  ice  eternal  piled, 

— Yet  the  mother  loves  her  child, — 

And  the  wildernesses  drear 
To  the  native's  heart  are  dear; 
All  love's  charities  dwell  here. 

Next  on  lonely  Labrador, 

Let  me  hear  the  snow-storms  roar, 

Blinding,  burying  all  before. 

Yet  even  here,  in  glens  and  coves, 
Man  the  heir  of  all  things  roves, 
Feasts  and  fights,  and  laughs  and  loves. 


But  a  brighter  vision  breaks 
O'er  Canadian  woods  and  lakes  : 

—  These  my  spirit  soon  forsakes. 

Land  of  exiled  liberty, 

Where  our  fathers  once  were  free, 

Brave  New  England  !  hail  to  thee  ! 

Pennsylvania,  while  thy  flood 
Waters  fields  unbought  with  blood, 
Stand  for  peace,  as  thou  hast  stood. 

The  West  Indies  I  behold, 
Like  the'  Hesperides  of  old, 

—  Trees  of  life  with  fruits  of  gold. 

No, —  a  curse  is  on  their  soil  ; 
Bonds  and  scourges,  tears  and  toil, 
Man  degrade,  and  earth  despoil. 

Horror-struck,  I  turn  away, 
Coasting  down  the  Mexique  bay, 

—  Slavery  thero  hath  had  her  day. 

Hark  !  eight  hundred  thousand  tongues 
Startle  midnight  with  strango  songs  : 

—  England  ends  her  negroes'  wrong.-. 

Loud  the  voice  of  freedom  spoke, 
Every  accent  split  a  yoke, 
Every  word  a  fetter  broke. 

South  America  expands 
Forest-mountains,  river-lands, 
And  a  nobler  race  demands. 

And  a  nobler  race  arise, 

Stretch  their  limbs,  unclose  their  eyes. 

Claim  the  earth,  and  seek  the  skies. 

Gliding  through  Magellan's  Straits. 
Where  two  oceans  ope  their  gates, 
What  a  glorious  scene  awaits  ! 

The  immense  Pacific  smiles, 
Round  ten  thousand  little  isles, 
■ — Haunts  of  violence  and  wiles. 

But  the  powers  of  darkness  yield, 
For  the  Cross  is  in  the  field, 
And  the  light  of  life  reveal'd. 


A  VOYAGE  ROUND  THE  WORLD. 


357 


Rays  from  rock  to  rock  it  darts, 

Cape  of  storms,  thy  spectre  fled, 

Conquers  adamantine  hearts, 

See,  the  angel  Hope,  instead, 

And  immortal  bliss  imparts. 

Lights  from  heaven  upon  thine  head;  — 

North  and  west,  receding  far 

And  where  Table  Mountain  stands, 

From  the  evening's  downward  star, 

Barbarous  hordes  from  desert  sands, 

Now  I  mount  Aurora's  car  :  — 

Bless  the  sight  with  lifted  hands. 

Pale  Siberia's  deserts  shun, 

St.  Helena's  dungeon-keep 

From  Kamtschatka's  storm-cliffs  run, 

Scowls  defiance  o'er  the  deep; 

South  and  east,  to  meet  the  sun. 

There  a  warrior's  relics  sleep. 

Jealous  China,  dire  Japan, 

Who  he  was,  and  how  he  fell, 

With  bewilder'd  eyes  I  scan, 

Europe,  Asia,  Afric  tell : 

—They  are  but  dead  seas  of  man, — 

—  On  that  theme  all  time  shall  dwell. 

Ages  in  succession  find 

Forms  that  change  not,  stagnant  mind, 

And  they  leave  the  same  behind. 

Lo  !  the  eastern  Cyclades, 
Phoenix-nests  and  sky-blue  seas, 
—  But  I  tarry  not  with  these. 

Pass  we  drear  New  Holland's  shoals, 
Where  no  ample  river  rolls, 
— World  of  unawaken'd  souls  ! 

Bring  them  forth  ;  — 't  is  Heaven's  decree. 

Man,  assert  thy  liberty; 

Let  not  brutes  look  down  on  thee. 

Either  India  next  is  seen, 

With  the  Ganges  stretch'd  between  ; 

■ — Ah  !  what  horrors  here  have  been. 

War,  disguised  as  commerce,  came; 
Britain,  carrying  sword  and  flame, 
Won  an  empire, — lost  her  name. 

But  that  name  shall  be  restored, 
Law  and  justice  wield  the  sword, 
And  her  God  be  here  adored. 

By  the  Gulf  of  Persia  sail, 
Where  the  true-love  nightingale 
Woos  the  rose  in  every  vale. 

Though  Arabia  charge  the  breeze 
AVith  the  incense  of  her  trees, 
On  I  press  through  southern  seas. 


But  henceforth,  till  nature  dies, 
These  three  simple  words  comprise 
All  the  future :  "  Here  he  lies." 

Mammon's  plague-ships  throng  the  waves  : 

—  0  't  were  mercy  to  the  slaves, 
Were  the  maws  of  sharks  their  graves  ! 

Not  for  all  the  gems  and  gold, 

Which  thy  streams  and  mountains  hold, 

Or  for  which  thy  sons  are  sold, — 

Land  of  negroes !  — would  I  dare 
In  this  felon-trade  to  share, 
Or  to  brand  its  guilt  forbear. 

Hercules  !  thy  pillars  stand, 
Sentinels  of  sea  and  land  ! 
Cloud-capt  Atlas  towers  at  hand. 

Where,  when  Cato's  word  was  fate, 
Fell  the  Carthaginian  state, 
And  where  exiled  Marius  sate, — 

Mark  the  dens  of  caitiff  Moors; 
Ha!  the  pirates  seize  their  oars, 

—  Haste  we  from  the'  accursed  shores. 

Egypt's  hieroglyphic  realm 

Other  floods  than  Nile's  o'erwhelm, 

—  Slaves  turn'd  despots  hold  the  helm. 

Judah's  cities  are  forlorn, 
Lebanon  and  Carmel  shorn, 
Zion  trampled  down  with  scorn. 


358 


BIRDS. 


Greece,  thine  ancient  lamp  is  spent; 
Thou  art  thine  own  monument; 
But  the  sepulchre  is  rent, — 

And  a  wind  is  on  the  wing, 

At  whose  breath  new  heroes  spring, 

Sages  teach,  and  poets  sing. 

Italy,  thy  beauties  shroud 
In  a  gorgeous  evening  cloud  ; 
Thy  refulgent  head  is  bow'd. 

Rome,  in  ruins  lovely  still, 

On  her  Capitolian  hill, 

Bids  thee,  mourner,  weep  thy  fill. 

Yet  where  Roman  genius  reigns, 
Roman  blood  must  warm  the  veins ; 
—  Look  well,  tyrants,  to  your  chains ! 

Splendid  realm  of  old  romance, 

Spain,  thy  tower-crown'd  crest  advance. 

Grasp  the  shield,  and  couch  the  lance. 

At  the  fire-flash  of  thine  eye, 
Giant  bigotry  would  fly, 
At  thy  voice  oppression  die. 

Lusitania,  from  the  dust, 

Shake  thy  locks, —  thy  cause  is  just : 

Strike  for  freedom,  strike  and  trust. 

France,  I  hurry  from  thy  shore, 
Thou  art  not  the  France  of  yore, 
Thou  art  new-born  France  no  more. 

Great  thou  wast:  and  who  like  thee? 
Then  mad-drunk  with  liberty; 
AYhat  now/ — neither  great  nor  free. 

Sweep  by  Holland  like  the  blast, 
One  quick  glance  on  Denmark  cast, 
Sweden,  Russia, —  all  are  past. 

Elbe  nor  Weser  tempt  my  stay; 

Germany,  beware  the  day 

When  thy  schools  again  bear  sway. 

Now  to  thee,  to  thee,  I  fly, 
Fairest  isle  beneath  the  sky, 
To  my  heart,  as  in  mine  eye. 


I  have  seen  them,  one  by  one, 
Every  shore  beneath  the  sun, 
And  my  voyage  now  is  done. 

While  I  bid  them  all  be  blest, 
Britain  is  my  home,  my  rest; 
— Mine  own  land!  I  love  thee  best. 
Scarborough.  Dec.  1826. 


BIRDS. 
Tin:   SWALLOW. 

Swallow,  why  homeward  turn'd  thy  joyful  wing? 
— In  a  far  land  I  heard  the  voice  of  Spring; 
I  found  myself  that  moment  on  the  way; 
My  wings,  my  wings,  they  had  not  power  to  stay. 

SKYLARKS. 

What  hand  lets  fly  the  skylark  from  his  rest? 
— That  which  detains  his  mate  upon  the  nest; 
Love  sends  him  soaring  to  the  fields  above; 
She  broods  below,  all  bound  with  cords  of  love. 

THE    CVCKOO. 

Why  art  thou  always  welcome,  lonely  bird? 

— The  heart  grows  young  again  when  I  am  heard ; 

Nor  in  my  double  note  the  magic  lies, 

But  in  the  fields,  the  woods,  the  streams,  and  skies. 

TUB    REn-BREAST. 

Familiar  warbler,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ? 
— To  sing  to  thee  when  all  beside  are  dumb; 
Pray  let  thy  little  children  drop  a  crumb. 

THE    SPARROW. 

Sparrow,  the  gun  is  levell'd,  quit  that  wall. 
— Without  the  will  of  Heaven  I  cannot  fall. 

THE    RIXG-DOVE. 

Art  thou  the  bird  that  saw  the  waters  cease  ? 
— Yes,  and  brought  home  the  olive-leaf  of  peace ; 
Henceforth  I  haunt  the  woods  of  thickest  green, 
Pleased  to  be  often  heard,  but  seldom  seen. 

THE    MGHTIXGALE. 

Minstrel,  what  makes  thy  song  so  sad,  so  sweet? 
— Love,  love;  there,  agony  and  rapture  meet: 
0  'tis  the  dream  of  happiness,  to  feign 
Sorrow  in  joy,  and  wring  delight  from  pain  ! 


BIRDS. 


TUB    WATER-WAGTAIL. 

What  art  thou  made  of. —  air,  or  light,  or  dew? 

—  I  have  no  time  to  tell  you,  if  I  knew; 

My  tail, — ask  that, — perhaps  may  solve  the  matter; 
I've  miss'd  three  flies  already  by  this  chatter. 

THE    WREN. 

Wren,  canst  thou  squeeze  into  a  hole  so  small  ? 
— Ay,  with  nine  nestlings  too,  and  room  for  all ; 
Go,  compass  sea  and  laud  in  search  of  bliss, 
Then  tell  me  if  you  find  a  happier  home  than  this. 

THE   THRUSH. 

Thrush,  thrush,  have  mercy  on  thy  little  bill. 
— "  I  play  to  please  myself,  albeit  ill ; '" 
And  yet,  but  how  it  comes  I  cannot  tell, 
My  singing  pleases  all  the  world  as  well. 

THE    BLACKBIRD. 

Well  done ! — they're  noble  notes,  distinct  and  strong; 
Yet  more  variety  might  mend  the  song. 

—  Is  there  another  bird  that  chants  like  me? 
My  pipe  gives  all  the  grove  variety. 

THE    BULLFINCH. 

Bully,  what  fairy  warbles  in  thy  throat? 

—  Oh  !  for  the  freedom  of  my  own  wild  note ! 
Art  hath  enthrall'd  my  voice ;  I  strive  in  vain 
To  break  the  "linked  sweetness"  of  my  chain  : 
Love,  joy,  rage,  grief,  ring  one  melodious  strain. 

THE    GOLDFINCH. 

Live  with  me,  love  me,  pretty  goldfinch,  do! 
— Ay,  pretty  maid,  and  be  a  slave  to  you ; 
Wear  chains,  fire  squibs,  draw  water, — nay,  not  I, 
While  I've  a  bill  to  peck,  or  wing  to  fly. 

THE    STONE-CHAT. 

Why  art  thou  ever  flitting  to  and  fro  ? 

—  Plunge    through   those  whins,  their  thorns  will 

let  thee  know. 
There  are  five  secrets  brooding  here  in  night, 
Which  my  good  mate  will  duly  bring  to  light; 
Meanwhile  she  sees  the  ants  around  her  throng, 
And  hears  the  grasshopper  chirp  all  day  long. 

THE    GREY    LINNET. 

Linnet,  canst  thou  not  change  that  humble  coat? 
Linnet,  canst  thou  not  mellow  that  sharp  note  ? 
— If  rude  my  song,  and  mean  my  garb  appear, 
Have  you,  sir,  eyes  to  see,  or  ears  to  hear  ? 

1  Spenrer's  Shepherd's  Calendar:  June. 


THE    RED    LINNET. 

Sweet  is  thy  warble,  beautiful  thy  plume! 
— Catch  me,  and  cage  me,  then  behold  my  doom  ; 
My  throat  will  fail,  my  colour  wane  away, 
And  the  red  linnet  soon  become  a  yctj? 

THE    CHAFFINCH. 

Stand  still  a  moment ! 

— Spare  your  idle  words, 
I'm  the  perpetual  mobile  of  birds  : 
My  days  are  running,  rippling,  twittering  streams, 
When  fast  asleep  I'm  all  afloat  in  dreams. 

THE    CANARY. 

Dost  thou  not  languish  for  thy  father-land, 
Madeira's  fragrant  woods  and  billowy  strand  ? 

—  My  cage  is  father-land  enough  for  me; 

Your  parlour  all  the  world,  —  heaven,  earth,  and 
sea. 

THE    TOMTIT. 

Least,  nimblest,  merriest  bird  of  Albion's  isle, 
I  cannot  look  on  thee  without  a  smile. 

—  I  envy  thee  the  sight,  for  all  my  glee 
Could  never  yet  extort  a  smile  from  me  ; 
Think  what  a  tiresome  thing  my  life  must  be. 

THE    SWIFT. 

Why  ever  on  the  wing,  or  perch'd  elate? 

—  Because  I  fell  not  from  my  first  estate; 
This  is  my  charter  for  the  boundless  skies, 

"  Stoop  not  to  earth,  on  pain  no  more  to  rise." 

THE    KING-FISHER. 

Why  dost  thou  hide  thy  beauty  from  the  sun  ? 

—  The  eye  of  man,  but  not  of  Heaven,  I  shun  ; 
Beneath  the  mossy  bank,  with  alders  crown'd, 

I  build  and  brood  where  running  waters  sound  : 
There,  there  the  halcyon  peace  may  still  be  found. 

THE    WOODLARK. 

Thy  notes  are  silenced,  and  thy  plumage  mew'd  ; 
Say,  drooping  minstrel,  both  shall  be  renew'd. 
— Voice  will  return, —  I  cannot  choose  but  sing; 
Yet  liberty  alone  can  plume  my  wing; 
Oh  !  give  me  that !  —  I  will  not,  cannot 
Within  a  cage  less  ample  than  the  sky  ; 
Then  shalt  thou  hear,  as  if  an  angel  sung, 
Unseen  in  air,  heaven's  music  from  my  tongue : 

2  Some  naturalists  say  that  this  actually  happens. 


360 


BIRDS. 


Oh !  give  me  that !  —  I  cannot  rest  at  ease 

On  meaner  perches  than  the  forest  trees; 

There,  in  thy  walk,  while  evening  shadows  roll. 

My  song  shall  melt  into  thine  inmost  soul: 

But,  till  thou  let  thy  captive  bird  depart, 

The  sweetness  of  my  strain  shall  wring  thy  heart. 


Who  taught  thee,  chanticleer,  to  count  the  clock  ? 

—  Nay,  who  taught  man  that  lesson  hut  the  cock  ? 
Long    before    wheels    and    bells    had    learn'd    to 

chime, 
I  told  the  steps  unseen,  unheard,  of  time. 

THE    JACK-DAW. 

Canst  thou  remember  that  unlucky  day, 

When  all  thy  peaeoek-plumes  were  pluck'd  away  ? 

—  Remember  it?  —  believe  me,  that  I  can, 
With  right  good  cause,  for  I  was  then  a  man  ! 
And  for  my  folly,  by  a  wise  old  law, 

Stript,  whipt,  tarr'd,  feather'd,  turn'd  into  a  daw: 

—  Pray,  how  d'ye  like  my  answer?     Caw,   caw, 

caw  ! 

THE    BAT. 

What  shall  I  call  thee, — bird,  or  beast,  or  neither? 
— Just  what  you  will;  I'm  rather  both  than  either; 
Much  like  the  season  when  I  whirl  my  flight, 
The  dusk  of  evening, —  neither  day  nor  night. 

THE    OWL. 

Blue-eyed,  strange-voiced,  sharp-beak'd,  ill-omen*d 

fowl, 
What  art  thou? 

— What  I  ought  to  be,  an  owl: 
But  if  I'm  such  a  scarecrow  in  your  eye, 
You're  a  much  greater  fright  in  mine; — good  bye  ! 

ROOKS. 

What  means  that  riot  in  your  citadel  ? 
Be  honest,  peaceable,  like  brethren  dwell. 

—  How,  while  we  live  so  near  to  man,  can  life 
Be  any  thing  but  knavery,  noise,  and  strife  ? 

THE    JAY. 

Thou  hast  a  crested  poll,  a  scutcheon'd  wing, 

Fit  for  a  herald  of  the  eagle  king, 

But  such  a  voice  !  I  would  that  thou  couldst  sing ! 

—  My  bill  has  tougher  work, — to  scream  for  fright, 
And  then,  when  screaming  will  not  do,  to  bite. 


THE    I'EACOCK. 

Peacock!  of  idle  beauty  why  so  vain? 

—  And  art  thou  humble,  who  hast  no  proud  train? 
It  is  not  vanity,  but  Nature's  part, 

To  show,  by  me,  the  cunning  of  her  art. 

THE    SWAX. 

Sing  me,  fair  swan,  that  song  which  poets  dream. 
— Stand  thou  an  hundred  years  beside  this  stream. 
Then  may'st  thou  hear,  perchance,  my  latest  breath 
"  Create  a  soul  beneath  the  ribs  of  death."  ' 

THE    PHRA8AHT. 

Pheasant,  forsake  the  country,  come  to  town ; 
I'll  warrant  thee  a  place  beneath  the  crown. 

—  No;  not  to  roost  upon  the  throne,  would  I 
Renounce  the  woods,  the  mountains,  and  the  sky. 

TnE   BATEN. 

Thin  is  thy  plumage,  death  is  in  thy  croak; 
Raven,  come  down  from  that  majestic  oak. 
— When  I  was  hatch'd,  my  father  set  this  tree, 
An  acorn ;  and  its  fall  I  hope  to  see, 
A  century  after  thou  hast  ceased  to  be. 

THE    PARROT. 

Camest  thou  from  India,  popinjay,—  and  why? 

—  To  make  thy  children  open  ear  and  eye, 
Gaze  on  my  feathers,  wonder  at  my  talk, 
And  think  'tis  almost  time  for  Poll  to  walk. 

THE    MAGPIE. 

Magpie,  thou  too  hast  learn'd  by  rote  to  speak, 
Words  without  meaning,  througli  thy  uncouth  beak. 
— Words  have  I  learn'd  ?  and  without  meaning  too  ? 
No  wonder,  sir,  for  I  was  taught  by  you. 

THE    CORN-CRAKE. 

Art  thou  a  sound,  and  nothing  but  a  sound  ? 

—  Go  round   the   field,  and  round    the   field,  and 

round, 
You'll  find  my  voice  for  ever  changing  ground  ; 
And  while  your  ear  pursues  my  creaking  cry, 
You  look  as  if  you  heard  it  with  your  eye. 

THE    STORK. 

Stork,  why  were  human  virtues  given  to  thee  ? 

—  That  human  beings  might  resemble  me; 

1  Milton's  Comus. 


TIME. 


361 


Kind  to  my  offspring,  to  my  partner  true, 
And  duteous  to  my  parents, — what  are  you  ? 


THE    WOODPECKER. 

Rap.  rap,  rap,  rap,  I  hear  thy  knocking  bill, 
Then  thy  strange  outcry,  when  the  woods  are  still. 
— Thus  am  I  ever  labouring  for  my  bread, 
And  thus  give  thanks  to  find  my  table  spread. 

THE    HAWK. 

A  life  at  every  meal,  rapacious  hawk ! 
Spare  helpless  innocence ! 

— Troth,  pleasant  talk  ! 
Yon  swallow  snaps  more  lives  up  in  a  day 
Than  in  a  twelvemonth  I  could  take  away. 
But  hark,  most  gentle  censor,  in  your  ear 
A  word,  a  whisper,- — you  —  are  you  quite  clear? 
Creation's  groans,  through  ocean,  earth,  and  sky, 
Ascend  from  all  that  walk,  or  swim,  or  fly. 

VULTURES. 

Abominable  harpies  !  spare  the  dead. 

— We  only  clear  the  field  which  man  has  spread ; 

On   which   should   Heaven   its    hottest  vengeance 

rain  ? 
You  slay  the  living,  we  but  strip  the  slain. 

THE    HUMMING-BIRD. 

Art  thou  a  bird,  or  bee,  or  butterfly  ? 
— Each  and  all  three. — A  bird  in  shape  am  I, 
A  bee  collecting  sweets  from  bloom  to  bloom, 
A  butterfly  in  brilliancy  of  plume. 

THE    EAGLE. 

Art  thou  the  king  of  birds,  proud  eagle,  say  ? 
— I  am  ;  my  talons  and  my  beak  bear  sway  ; 
A  greater  king  than  I  if  thou  wouldst  be, 
Govern  thy  tongue,  but  let  thy  thoughts  be  free. 

THE    PELICAN. 

Bird  of  the  wilderness,  what  is  thy  name? 
— The  pelican  !  —  go,  take  the  trump  of  fame, 
And  if  thou  give  the  honour  due  to  me, 
The  world  may  talk  a  little  more  of  thee. 

THE    HERON. 

Stock-still  upon  that  stone,  from  day  to  day, 
I  see  thee  watch  the  river  for  thy  prey. 
— Yes,  I'm  the  tyrant  here ;  but  when  I  rise, 
The  well-train'd  falcon  braves  me  in  the  skies : 


Then  comes  the  tug  of  war,  of  strength  and  skill; 
He  dies,  impaled  on  my  updarted  bill, 
Or,  powerless  in  his  grasp,  my  doom  I  meet, 
Ltropt  as  a  trophy  at  his  master's  feet. 

THE    BIRD    OF    PARADISE. 

The  bird  of  paradise  ! 

— That  name  I  bear, 
Though  I  am  nothing  but  a  bird  of  air : 
Thou  art  a  child  of  earth,  and  yet  to  thee, 
Lo:-t  and  recover'd,  paradise  is  free ; 
Oh  !  that  such  glory  were  reserved  for  me  ! 

THE    OSTRICH. 

Hast  thou  expell'd  the  mother  from  thy  breast, 
And  to  the  desert's  mercies  left  thy  nest? 
— Ah  !  no ;  the  mother  in  me  knows  her  part : 
Yon  glorious  sun  is  warmer  than  my  heart; 
And  when  to  light  he  brings  my  hungry  brood, 
He  spreads  for  them  the  wilderness  with  food. 


TIME  : 

A    RnAPSODY. 

Sed  fugit,  interea,  fugit  irreparabile  tempus. 

Virg.  Gcorg.  iii.  284. 

'Tis  a  mistake:  Time  flies  not, 

He  only  hovers  on  the  wing: 
Once  born,  the  moment  dies  not, 

'Tis  an  immortal  thing; 
While  all  is  change  beneath  the  sky, 
Fix'd  like  the  sun  as  learned  sages  prove, 
Though  from  our  moving  world  he  seems  to  move, 
'T  is  Time  stands  still,  and  we  that  fly. 

There  is  no  past;  from  nature's  birth, 

Days,  months,  years,  ages,  till  the  end 
Of  these  revolving  heavens  and  earth, 

All  to  one  centre  tend; 
And,  having  reach'd  it  late  or  soon, 

Converge, — as  in  a  lens,  the  rays, 
Caught  from  the  fountain-light  of  noon, 

Blend  in  a  point  that  blinds  the  gaze : 
— What  has  been  is,  what  is  shall  last; 
The  present  is  the  focus  of  the  past; 
The  future,  perishing  as  it  arrives, 
Becomes  the  present,  and  itself  survives. 


362                                                         A    LUCID    INTERVAL. 

Time  is  not  progress,  but  amount ; 

Then  shall  be  shown,  that  but  in  name 

One  vast  accumulating  store, 

Time  and  eternity  were  both  the  same; 

Laid  up,  not  lost; — we  do  not  count 

A  point  which  life  nor  death  could  sever, 

Years  gone,  but  added  to  the  score 

A  moment  standing  still  for  ever. 

Of  wealth  untold,  to  clime  nor  class  confined, 

1833. 

Riches  to  generations  lent, 
For  ever  spending,  never  spent, 

The'  august  inheritance  of  all  mankind. 

Of  this,  from  Adam  to  his  latest  heir, 

TO    A   FRIEND, 

All  in  due  turn  their  portion  share, 

WITH   A   COPY   OF   THE    F0RBS0I8G    LUCUBRATION. 

Which,  as  they  husband  or  abuse, 

Their  souls  they  win  or  lose. 

May  she  for  whom  these  lines  are  penn'd, 

By  using  well,  make  Time  her  friend; 

Though  History,  on  her  faded  scrolls. 

Then,  whether  he  stands  still  or  flies, 

Fragments  of  facts  and  wrecks  of  names  enrols, 

'Whether  the  moment  lives  01 

Time's  indefatigable  fingers  write 

She  need  not  care, —  for  Time  will  be 

Men's  meanest  actions  on  their  souls, 

Her  friend  to  all  eternity. 

In  lines  which  not  himself  can  blot: 

These  the  last  day  shall  bring  to  light, 
Though  through  long  centuries  forgot, 

When  hearts  and  sepulchres  are  bared  to  sight. 

A  LUCID  INTERVAL. 

Then,  having  fill'd  his  measure  up, 

Oh  !  light  is  pleasant  to  the  eye, 

Amidst  his  own  assembled  progeny, 

And  health  comes  rustling  on  the  gale; 

(All  that  have  been,  that  are,  or  yet  may  be,) 

Clouds  are  careering  through  the  sky, 

Before  the  great  white  throne, 

Whose  shadows  mock  them  down  the  dale ; 

To  Him  who  sits  thereon, 

Nature  as  fresh  and  fragrant  seems 

Time  shall  present  the'  amalgamating  cup, 

As  I  have  met  her  in  my  dreams. 

In  which,  as  in  a  crucible, 

He  hid  the  moments  as  they  fell, 

For  I  have  been  a  prisoner  long 

More  precious  than  Golconda's  gems, 

In  gloom  and  loneliness  of  mind; 

Or  stars  in  angels'  diadems, 

Deaf  to  the  melody  of  song, 

Though  to  our  eyes  they  seem'd  to  pass 

To  every  form  of  beauty  blind; 

Like  sands  through  his  symbolic  glass  : 

Nor  morning  dew,  nor  evening  balm, 

But  now,  the  process  done, 

Might  cool  my  cheek,  my  bosom  calm. 

Of  millions  multiplied  by  millions,  none 

Shall  there  be  wanting, — while,  by  change 

But  now  the  blood,  the  blood  returns 

Ineffable  and  strange, 

With  rapturous  pulses  through  my  veins; 

All  .'ball  appear  at  once,  all  shall  appear  as  one. 

My  heart  from  out  its  ashes  burns  : 

My  limbs  break  loose,  they  cast  their  chains  ; 

Ah  !  then  shall  each  of  Adam's  race, 

New  kindled  at  the  sun,  my  sight 

In  that  concentred  instant,  trace, 

Tracks  to  a  point  the  eagle's  flight. 

Upon  the  tablet  of  his  mind, 

II i ~  whole  existence  in  a  thought  combined, 

I  long  to  climb  those  old  grey  rocks, 

Thenceforth  to  part  no  more,  but  be 

Glide  with  you  river  to  the  deep, 

Impictured  on  his  memory; 

Range  the  green  hills  with  herds  and  flocks, 

— As  in  the  image-chamber  of  the  eye, 

Free  as  the  roebuck  run  and  leap ; 

Seen  at  a  glance,  in  clear  perspective,  lie 

Or  mount  the  lark's  victorious  wing, 

Myriads  of  forms  of  ocean,  earth,  and  sky. 

And  from  the  depth  of  ether  sing. 

WORMS  AND  FLOWERS. 


3«3 


0  earth  !  in  maiden  innocence, 
Too  early  fled  thy  golden  time  ; 

0  earth  !  earth  !  earth  !  for  man's  offence, 
Doom'd  to  dishonour  in  thy  prime  : 

Of  how  much  glory  then  bereft ! 

Yet  what  a  world  of  bliss  is  left ! 

The  thorn,  harsh  emblem  of  the  curse, 
Puts  forth  a  Paradise  of  flowers  ; 

Labour,  man's  punishment,  is  nurse 
To  home-born  joys  at  sunset  hours; 

Plague,  earthquake,  famine,  want,  disease, 

Give  birth  to  holiest  charities. 

And  death  himself,  with  all  the  woes, 
That  hasten  yet  prolong  his  stroke, 

Death  brings  with  every  pang  repose, 
With  every  sigh  he  solves  a  yoke; 

Yea,  his  cold  sweats  and  moaning  strife 

Wring  out  the  bitterness  of  life. 

Life,  life  with  all  its  burdens  dear! 

Friendship  is  sweet,  lore  sweeter  still; 
Who  would  forego  a  smile,  a  tear. 

One  generous  hope,  one  chastening  ill? 
Home,  kindred,  country. —  these  are  ties 
Might  keep  an  angel  from  the  skies. 

But  these  have  angels  never  known  ; 

Unvex'd  felicity  their  lot; 
The  sea  of  glass  before  the  throne, 

Storm,  lightning,  shipwreck,  visit  not; 
Our  tides,  beneath  the  changing  moon, 
Are  soon  appeased,  are  troubled  soon. 

Well,  I  would  bear  what  all  have  borne, 
Live  my  few  years,  and  fill  my  place ; 

O'er  old  and  young  affections  mourn, 
Rent  one  by  one  from  my  embrace, 

Till  suffering  ends,  and  I  have  done 

With  every  thing  beneath  the  sun. 

Whence  came  I  ?  —  Memory  cannot  say  ; 

What  am  I  ?  —  Knowledge  will  not  show  ; 
Bound  whither  ?  —  Ah  I  away,  away, 

Far  as  eternity  can  go  :  — 
Thy  love  to  win,  thy  wrath  to  flee, 
0  God  !  thyself  my  teacher  be. 

1S23. 


WORMS  AND  FLOWERS. 

You're  spinning  for  my  lady, worm  1 

Silk  garments  for  the  fair; 
You're  spinning  rainbows  for  a  form 

More  beautiful  than  air, 
When  air  is  bright  with  sun-beams, 

Anil  morning  mists  arise 
From  woody  vales  and  mountain  streams 

To  blue  autumnal  skies. 

You're  springing  for  my  lady,  flower  ! 

You're  training  for  my  love, 
The  glory  of  her  summer-bower, 

While  skylarks  soar  above  : 
Go,  twine  her  locks  with  rose-buds, 

Or  breathe  upon  her  breast, 
While  zephyrs  curl  the  water-floods 

And  rock  the  halcyon's  nest. 

But,  oh  !  there  is  another  worm 

Ere  long  will  visit  her, 
And  revel  on  her  lovely  form, 

In  the  dark  sepulchre  : 
Yet  from  that  sepulchre  shall  spring 

A  flower  as  sweet  as  this; 
Hard  by  the  nightingale  shall  sing, 

Soft  winds  its  petals  kiss. 

Frail  emblems  of  frail  beauty,  ye ! 

In  beauty  who  would  trust? 
Since  all  that  charms  the  eye  must  be 

Consign'd  to  worms  and  dust : 
Yet,  like  the  flower  that  decks  her  tomb, 

Her  spirit  shall  quit  the  sod, 
To  shine  in  amaranthine  bloom, 

Fast  by  the  throne  of  God. 
1834. 


THE  RECLUSE. 

A  fountain,  issuing  into  light 
Before  a  marble  palace,  threw 

To  heaven  its  column,  pure  and  bright, 
Returning  thence  in  showers  of  dew  ; 

But  soon  a  humbler  course  it  took, 

And  glid  away  a  nameless  brook. 


304 


THE  RECLUSE.—  THE  RETREAT. 


Flowers  on  its  grassy  margin  sprang, 
Flies  o'er  its  eddying  surface  play'd, 

Birds  'midst  the  alder-branches  sang, 
Flocks     through     the     verdant    meadows 
stray'd ; 

The  weary  there  lay  down  to  rest, 

And  there  the  halcyon  built  her  nest. 

'Twas  beautiful,  to  stand  and  watch 
The  fountain's  crystal  turn  to  gems, 

And  from  the  sky  such  colours  catch, 
As  if  'twere  raining  diadems  ; 

Yet  all  was  cold  and  curious  art, 

That  charm'd  the  eye  and  miss'd  the  heart. 


THE  RETREAT. 

Written  on  finding  a  copy  of  verses  in  a  small  edifice  so 
named,  at  Kaituby,  in  Lincolnshire,  the  seat  of  R.  C. 
Bracken  bury,  to  whom  the  Author  made  a  visit  in  the 
autumn  of  1S15,  after  a  severe  illness. 

A  straxger  sat  down  in  the  lonely  retreat :  — 

Though  kindness  had  wclcom'd  him  there, 
Yet,  weary  with  travel,  and  fainting  with  heat, 

His  bosom  was  sadden'd  with  care : 
That  sinking  of  spirit  they  only  can  know 

Whose  joys  are  all  chasten'd  with  fears ; 
Whose  waters  of  comfort,  though  deeply  they  flow, 

Still  wind  through  the  valley  of  tears. 


Dearer  to  me  the  little  stream, 
Whose  unimprison'd  waters  run, 

WiUl  as  the  changes  of  a  dream, 

By  rock  and  glen,  through  shade  and 
sun : 

Its  lovely  links  had  power  to  bind 

Tn  welcome  chains  my  wandering  mind. 

So  thought  I  when  I  saw  the  face, 

By  happy  portraiture  reveal'd, 
Of  one,  adorn'd  with  every  grace, 

—  Her  name  and  date  from  me  conceal'd, 
But  not  her  story  ;  —  she  had  been 
The  pride  of  many  a  splendid  scene. 

She  cast  her  glory  round  a  court, 
And  frolick'd  in  the  gayest  ring, 

Where  fashion's  high-born  minions  sport, 
Like  sparkling  fire-flies  on  the  wing; 

But  thence,  when  love  had  touch'd  her  soul, 

To  nature  and  to  truth  she  stole. 

From  din,  and  pageantry,  and  strife, 
Midst  woods  and  mountains,  vales  and 
plains, 
She  treads  the  paths  of  lowly  life, 

Yet  in  a  bosom-circle  reigns  ; 
Xo  fountain  scattering  diamond  showers, 
But  the  sweet  streamlet  watering  flowers. 
1S29. 


What  ails  thee,  0  stranger !  but  open  thine  eye 

A  paradise  bursts  on  thy  view  : 
The  sun  in  full  glory  is  marching  on  high 

Through  cloudless  and  infinite  blue  : 
The  woods,  in  their  wildest  luxuriance  display'd, 

And  stretching  their  coverts  of  green, 
While  bright  from   the   depth  of   their  innermost 
shade 

Yon  mirror  of  waters  is  seen. 

There,  richly  reflected,  the  mansion,  the  lawn, 

The  banks  and  the  foliage,  appear, 
By  nature's  own  pencil  enchantingly  drawn, 

—  A  landscape  enshrined  in  a  sphere  ; 
While  the  fish  in  their  element  sport  to  and  fro, 

Quick  glancing  or  gliding  at  ease, 
The  birds  seem  to  fly  in  a  concave  below, 

Through  a  vista  of  down-growing  trees. 

The  current,  unrippled  by  volatile  airs, 

Now  glitters,  now  darkens  along, 
And  yonder  o'erflowing,  incessantly  bears 

Symphonious  accordance  to  song  :  — 
The  song  of  the  ring-dove  cnamour'd,  that  floats 

Like  soft-melting  murmurs  of  grief;  — 
The  song  of  the  red-breast,  in  ominous  notes, 

Foretelling  the  fall  of  the  leaf:  — 

The  Ming  of  the  bee,  in  its  serpentine  flight, 
From  blossom  to  blossom  that  roves  :  — 

The  song  of  the  wind  in  the  silence  of  night, 
When  it  wakens  or  hushes  the  groves  :  — 

Thus  sweet  in  the  chorus  of  rapture  and  love, 
Which  Gon  in  his  temple  attends, 


SPEE  D    THE    PROW.                                                             365 

With  the  song  of  all  nature  beneath  and  above, 

Oft  pausing,  and  hearkening,  and  turning  his  eye, 

The  voice  of  these  waters  ascends. 

He  left  the  sequester'd  retreat; 

As  the  stars  in  succession  awoke  through  the  sky, 

The  beauty,  the  music,  the  bliss  of  that  scene 

And  the  moon  of  the  harvest  shone  sweet; 

AVith  ravishing  sympathy  stole 

So  pure  was  her  lustre,  so  lovely  and  bright, 

Through  the  stranger's  lorn  bosom,  illumined   his 

So  soft  on  the  landscape  it  lay, 

mien, 

The  shadows  appear'd  but  the  slumber  of  light, 

And  soothed  and  exalted  his  soul : 

And  the  night-scene  a  dream  of  the  day. 

Cold  gloomy  forebodings  then  vanish'd  away, 

His  terrors  to  ecstasies  turn, 

He   walk'd    to   the    mansion,  —  though   silent    his 

As  the  vapours  of  night,  at  the  dawning  of  day, 

tongue, 

With  splendour  and  loveliness  burn. 

And  his  heart  with  its  fulness  opprest, 

His  spirit  within  him  melodiously  sung 

The  stranger  reposed  in  the  lonely  retreat, 

The  feelings  that  throbb'd  in  his  breast : 

Now  smiling  at  phantoms  gone  by, 

— "Oh!  ye,  who  inherit  this  privileged  spot! 

When,  lo  !  a  new  welcome,  in  numbers  most  sweet, 

All  blooming  like  Eden  of  yore, 

Saluted  his  ear  through  his  eye : 

What  earth  can  afford  is  already  your  lot, 

It  came  to  his  eye,  but  it  went  to  his  soul; 

With  the  promise  of  'life  evermore.' 

—  Some  muse,  as  she  wander'd  that  way, 

Had  dropt  from  her  bosom  a  mystical  scroll, 

"Here,  oft  as  to  strangers  your  table  is  spread, 

Whose  secrets  I  dare  not  betray. 

May  angels  sit  down  at  your  board; 

Here,  oft  as  the  poor  by  your  bounty  are  fed, 

Strange  tones,  we  are  told,  the  pale  mariner  hears 

Be  charity  shown  to  your  Lord  ; 

When  the  mermaids  ascend  from  their  caves, 

Thus  walking  with  God  in  your  paradise  here, 

And    sing,    where   the    moon's    lengthen'd    image 

In  humble  communion  of  love, 

appears 

At  length  may  your  spirits,  when  He  shall  appear, 

A  column  of  gold  on  the  waves ; 

Be  caught  up  to  glory  above." 

— And  wild  notes  of  wonder  the  shepherd  entrance, 

Who  dreamin°'  beholds  in  the  vale, 

By  torch-light  of  glow-worms,  the  fairies  that  dance 

To  minstrelsy  piped  in  the  gale. 

SPEED  THE  PROW. 

Not  less  to  that  stranger  mysteriously  brought, 

Not  the  ship  that  swiftest  saileth, 

With  harmony  deep  and  refined, 

But  which  longest  holds  her  way 

In  language  of  feeliug  and  music  of  thought, 

Onward,  onward,  never  faileth, 

Those  numbers  were  heard  in  his  mind  : 

Storm  and  calm,  to  win  the  day; 

Then  quick  beat   the   pulse   which  had   languidly 

Earliest  she  the  haven  gains, 

crept, 

Which  the  hardest  stress  sustains. 

And  sent  through  his  veins  a  spring-tide; 

It  seem'd  as  the  harp  of  a  seraph  were  swept 

O'er  life's  ocean,  wide  and  pathless, 

By  a  spirit  that  sung  at  his  side. 

Thus  would  I  with  patience  steer; 

No  vain  hope  of  journeying  seathless, 

All  ceased  in  a  moment,  and  nothing  was  heard, 

No  proud  boast  to  face  down  fear ; 

And  nothing  was  seen,  through  the  wood, 

Dark  or  bright  his  Providence, 

But  the  twittering  cry  of  a  fugitive  bird, 

Trust  in  God  be  my  defence. 

And  the  sunset  that  blazed  on  the  flood: 

He  rose,  for  the  shadows  of  evening  grew  long, 

Time  there  was, — 'tis  so  no  longer, — 

And  narrow  the  glimpses  between; 

When  I  crowded  every  sail, 

The  owl  in  his  ambush  was  whooping  his  song, 

Battled  with  the  waves,  and  stronger 

And  the  gossamer  glanced  on  the  green. 

Grew,  as  stronger  grew  the  gale ; 

1 

366 


THE  SKYLARK.— THE  FIXED  STARS. 


But  uiy  strength  sunk  with  the  wind, 
And  the  sea  lay  dead  behind. 

There  my  bark  had  founder'd  surely, 

But  a  Power  invisible 
Breathed  upon  me;  —  then  securely, 

Borne  along  the  gradual  swell, 
Helm,  and  shrouds,  and  heart  renew'd, 
I  my  humbler  course  pursued. 

Now,  though  evening  shadows  blacken, 
And  no  star  comes  through  the  gloom, 

On  I  move,  nor  will  I  slacken 

Sail,  though  verging  tow'rds  the  tomb  : 

Bright  beyond, —  on  heaven's  high  strand, 

Lo,  the  lighthouse! — land,  land,  land! 

Cloud  and  sunshine,  wind  and  weather, 
Sense  and  sight,  are  fleeing  fast; 

Time  and  tide  must  fail  together, 
Life  and  death  will  soon  be  past; 

But  where  day's  last  spark  declines, 

Glory  everlasting  shines. 
1834. 


THE  SKY-LARK. 

(addressed  to  a  friend.) 

On  hearing  one  singing  at  day-break,  during  a  sharp  frost 
on  the  17th  of  February,  1832,  while  the  Author  was  on 
travel,  between  Bath  and  Stroud. 

0  warn  away  the  gloomy  night, 
With  music  make  the  welkin  ring, 
Bird  of  the  dawn  !  —  On  joyful  wing, 

Soar  through  thine  element  of  light, 
Till  nought  in  heaven  mine  eye  can  see, 
Except  the  morning  star  and  thee. 

0  welcome  in  the  cheerful  day ! 

Through  rosy  clouds  the  shades  retire, 
The  sun  hath  touch'd  thy  plumes  with  fire, 

And  girt  thee  with  a  golden  ray : 

Now  shape  and  voice  are  vanish'd  quite, 
Nor  eye  nor  ear  can  track  thy  flight. 


Could  I  translate  thy  strains,  and  give 
Words  to  thy  notes  in  human  tongue, 
The  sweetest  lay  that  e'er  I  sung, 

The  lay  that  would  the  longest  live, 
I  might  record  upon  this  page, 
And  sing  thy  song  from  age  to  age. 

But  speech  of  mine  can  ne'er  reveal 
Secrets  so  freely  told  above, 
Yet  is  their  burden  joy  and  love, 

And  all  the  bliss  a  bird  can  feel, 

Whose  wing  in  heaven  to  earth  is  bound, 
Whose  home  and  heart  are  on  the  ground. 

Unlike  the  lark  be  thou,  my  friend  ! 

No  downward  cares  thy  thoughts  engage, 
But  in  thine  house  of  pilgrimage, 

Though  from  the  ground  thy  songs  ascend, 
Still  be  their  burden  joy  and  love  : 
—  Heaven  is  thy  home,  thy  heart  above. 


THE  FIXED  STARS. 

Reign  in  your  heaven,  ye  stars  of  light! 

Beyond  this  troubled  scene; 
With  you,  fair  orbs  !  there  is  no  night; 

Eternally  serene, 
Each  casts  around  its  tranquil  way, 
The  radiance  of  its  own  clear  day; 
Yet  not  unborrow'd. — What  are  ye? 
Mirrors  of  Deity : 
My  soul,  in  your  reflective  rays, 
Him  whom  no  eye  hath  seen  surveys, 
As  I  behold  (himself  too  bright  for  view) 
The  sun  in  every  drop  of  dew. 

The  gloom  that  brings,  through  evening  skies, 

Your  beauty  from  the  deep; 
The  clouds  that  hide  you  from  our  eyes; 

The  storms  that  seem  to  sweep 
Your  scatter'd  train,  like  vessels  tost 
On  ocean's  waves,  now  seen,  now  lost; 
—  Belong  to  our  inferior  ball, 
Ye  shine  above  them  all : 
Your  splendour  noon  eclipses  not, 
Nor  night  reveals,  nor  vapours  blot; 
O'er  us,  not  you,  these  changes  come  and  pass : 
Ye  navigate  a  sea  of  glass. 


TIIK  LILT.  — THE  GENTIANELLA.  — THE  SUN-FLOWER. 


307 


Tims,  on  their  hyaline  above, 

In  constellation  stand 
The  tribes  redeem'd  by  sovereign  love: 

— Crown VI,  and  with  harp  in  hand, 
They  sing,  before  the  great  I  AM, 
The  song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb; 
Returning  in  perpetual  streams 
His  own  all-lightening  beams. 
—  Theirs  be  thy  portion,  0  my  soul ! 
That,  while  heaven's  years  self-circling  roll, 
I  may,  among  the  ransom'd — they  in  me, 
And  I  in  them, — God's  image  see. 
1S34. 


THE  LILY. 

TO    A    YOUNG    LADY,  E.  P. 

Flower  of  light,  forget  thy  birth, 
Daughter  of  the  sordid  earth, 
Lift  the  beauty  of  thine  eye 
To  the  blue  ethereal  sky ! 

While  thy  graceful  buds  unfold 
Silver  petals  starr'd  with  gold, 
Let  the  bee  among  thy  bells 
Rifle  their  ambrosial  cells, 
And  the  nimble-pinion'd  air 
Waft  thy  breath  to  heaven  like  prayer. 
Cloud  and  sun  alternate  shed 
Gloom  or  glory  round  thine  head  ; 
Morn  impearl  thy  leaves  with  dews, 
Evening  lend  them  rosy  hues, 
Noon  with  snow-white  splendour  bless, 
Night  with  glow-worm  jewels  dress. 
—  Thus  fulfil  thy  summer-day, 
Spring,  and  flourish,  and  decay ; 
Live  a  life  of  fragrance, —  then 
Disappear, —  to  rise  again, 
When  thy  sisters  of  the  vale 
Welcome  back  the  nightingale. 

So  may  she,  whose  name  I  write, 
Be  herself  a  flower  of  light, 
Live  a  life  of  innocence, 
Die  to  be  transplanted  hence 
To  that  garden  in  the  skies, 
Where  the  lily  never  dies. 

1829. 


THE  GENTIANELLA. 


Guee.n  thou  art,  obscurely  green, 
Meanest  plant  among  the  mean  ! 

From  the  dust  I  took  my  birth ; 
77(o»,  too,  art  a  child  of  earth  ; 
/  aspire  not  to  be  great; 
Scorn  not  thou  my  low  estate; 
Time  will  come  when  thou  shalt  see 
Honour  crown  humility, 
Beauty  set  her  seal  on  me. 

IN    FLOWER. 

Blue  thou  art,  intensely  blue, 

Flower,  whence  came  thy  dazzling  hue  ? 

When  I  open'd  first  mine  eye, 
Upward  glancing  to  the  sky, 
Straightway  from  the  firmament 
Was  the  sapphire  brilliance  sent. 
Brighter  glory  wouldst  thou  share, 
Do  what  I  did, —  look  up  there  ; 
What  I  could  not, —  look  with  prayer ! 


THE  SUN-FLOWER. 

Eagle  of  flowers  !  I  see  thee  stand, 
And  on  the  sun's  noon-glory  gaze; 

With  eye  like  his,  thy  lids  expand, 

And  fringe  their  disk  with  golden  rays : 

Though  fix'd  on  earth,  in  darkness  rooted  there, 

Light  is  thine  element,  thy  dwelling  air, 
Thy  prospect  heaven. 

So  would  mine  eagle  soul  descry, 

Beyond  the  path  where  planets  run, 
The  light  of  immortality, 
The  splendour  of  creation's  sun ; 
Though  sprung  from  earth,  and  hastening  to  the 

tomb, 
In  hope  a  flower  of  paradise  to  bloom, 
I  look  to  heaven. 

1834. 


3CS 


HUMILITY.— REMINISCENCE. 


WINTER-LIGHTNING. 

The  flash  at  midnight!  —'twas  a  light 
That  gave  the  blind  a  moment's  sight, 

Then  sunk  in  tenfold  gloom ; 
Loud,  deep,  and  long  the  thunder  broke, 
The  deaf  ear  instantly  awoke, 

Then  closed  as  in  the  tomb: 
An  angel  might  have  pass'd  my  bed, 
Sounded  the  trump  of  God,  and  fled. 

So  life  appears ;  —  a  sudden  birth, 
A  glance  revealing  heaven  and  earth, 

It  is  and  it  is  not ! 
So  fame  the  poet's  hope  deceives, 
Who  sings  for  after-times,  and  leaves 

A  name  —  to  be  forgot: 
Life  is  a  lightning-flash  of  breath, 
Tame  but  a  thunder-clap  at  death. 


HUMILITY. 

The  bird  that  soars  on  highest  wing, 
Builds  on  the  ground  her  lowly  nest; 

And  she  that  doth  most  sweetly  sing, 
Sings  in  the  shade  when  all  things  rest; 

—  In  lark  and  nightingale  we  see 

What  honour  hath  humility. 

When  Mary  chose  the  "better  part," 

She  meekly  sat  at  Jesus'  feet ; 
And  Lydia's  gently-open'd  heart 

Was  made  for  God's  own  temple  meet; 

Fairest  and  best  adorn'd  is  she 

Whose  clothing  is  humility. 

The  saint  that  wears  heaven's  brightest  crown, 

In  deepest  adoration  bends  ; 
The  weight  of  glory  bows  him  down, 

Then  most  when  most  his  soul  ascends  ; 
—  Nearest  the  throne  itself  must  be 
The  footstool  of  humility. 

1833. 


EVENING  TIME. 
Zech.  xiv.  7. 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light :  — 
Life's  little  day  draws  near  its  close; 

Around  me  fall  the  shades  of  night, 
The  night  of  death,  the  grave's  repose : 
To  crown  my  joys,  to  end  my  woes, 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light :  — 
Stormy  and  dark  hath  been  my  day, 

Yet  rose  the  morn  benignly  bright, 

Dews,  birds,  and  flowers  cheer'd  all  the  way 
0  for  one  sweet,  one  parting  ray  ! 

At  evening  time  let  there  be  light. 

At  evening  time  there  shall  be  light:  — 
For  God  hath  said,—  "  So  let  it  be  ! " 

Fear,  doubt,  and  anguish,  take  their  flight, 
His  glory  now  is  risen  on  me ; 
Mine  eyes  shall  his  salvation  see  :  — 

'Tig  evening  time,  and  there  is  light. 

Conway,  North  Wales,  1828. 


REMINISCENCE. 

Remembranxe  of  the  dead  revives 
The  slain  of  time,  at  will ; 

Those  who  were  lovely  in  their  lives, 
In  death  are  lovelier  still. 

Unburden'd  with  infirmity, 
Unplagued  like  mortal  men, 

0  with  what  pure  delight  we  see 
The  heart's  old  friends  again  ! 

Not  as  they  sunk  into  the  tomb, 
With  sickness-wasted  powers, 

But  in  the  beauty  and  the  bloom 
Of  their  best  days  and  ours. 

The  troubles  of  departed  years 
Bring  joys  unknown  before  ; 

And  soul-refreshing  are  the  tears 
O'er  wounds  that  bleed  no  more. 


A  RECOLLECTION  OF  MARY  F. 


3G9 


Lightnings  may  blast,  but  thunder-showers 

Earth's  ravaged  face  renew, 
With  nectar  fill  the  cups  of  flowers, 

And  hang  the  thorns  with  dew. 

Remembrance  of  the  dead  is  sweet; 

Yet  how  imperfect  this, 
Unless  past,  present,  future,  meet, — 

A  threefold  cord  of  bliss ! 

Companions  of  our  youth,  our  age, 
With  whom  through  life  we  walk'd, 

And,  in  our  house  of  pilgrimage, 
Of  home  beyond  it  talk'd  :  — 

Grief  on  their  urn  may  fix  her  eyes, — 
They  spring  not  from  the  ground ; 

Love  may  invoke  them  from  the  skies, — 
There  is  no  voice  nor  sound. 

Fond  memory  marks  them  as  they  were, 

Stars  in  our  horoscope; 
But  soon  to  see  them  as  they  are  — 

That  is  our  dearest  hope. 

Not  through  the  darkness  of  the  night, 

To  waking  thought  unseal'd, 
But  in  the  uncreated  light 

Of  Deity  reveal'd. 

They  cannot  come  to  us,  but  we 

Ere  long  to  them  may  go ;  — 
That  glimpse  of  immortality 

Is  heaven  begun  below. 


A  RECOLLECTION  OF  MARY  F., 

A  YOUNG   LADY   UNEXPECTEDLY  REMOVED   FROM   A   LARGE 
FIMILY   CLRCLE. 

Her  life  had  twice  been  saved,  once  from  the  flames,  and 
again  from  the  water,  by  an  affectionate  father. 

Thrice  born  for  earth,  and  twice  for  heaven, 

A  lovely  maiden  once  I  knew, 
To  whom  'tis  now  in  glory  given 

To  grow,  as  here  in  shade  she  grew  ; 
Brief  was  her  course,  but  starry  bright; 
The  linnet's  song,  the  lily's  white, 

24 


The  fountain's  freshness, —  these  shall  be 
Meet  emblems  of  that  maid  to  me. 

A  weeping  babe  to  light  she  came, 

And  changed  for  smiles  a  mother's  throes; 
In  childhood  from  devouring  flame 
Rescued,  to  second  life  she  rose; 
A  father's  arm  had  pluck'd  her  thence  ; 
That  arm  again  was  her  defence, 
When,  buried  in  the  strangling  wave, 
He  snatch'd  her  from  an  ocean  grave. 

Twice  born  for  heaven  as  thrice  for  earth, 

When  God's  eternal  Spirit  moved 
On  her  young  heart,  a  nobler  birth 

Than  nature  can  confer,  she  proved : 
—  The  dew-drop  in  the  breeze  of  morn, 
Trembling  and  sparkling  on  the  thorn, 
Falls  to  the  ground,  escapes  the  eye, 
Yet  mounts  on  sunbeams  to  the  sky. 

Thus  in  the  dew  of  youth  she  shone. 

Thus  in  the  morn  of  beauty  fell  ; 
Even  while  we  gazed,  the  form  was  gone. 

Her  life  became  invisible; 
Her  last  best  birth,  with  her  last  breath, 
Came  in  the  dark  disguise  of  death; 
Grief  fill'd  her  parents'  home  of  love, 
But  joy  her  Father's  house  above. 

1833. 


THE  CHOLERA  MOUNT. 

LINES   ON   THE   BDRYING-PLACE  FOR   PATIENTS   WHO   DIED   OF 

CHOLERA   MORBCS; 

A   PLEASANT   EMINENCE   IN   SHEFFIELD   PARK. 

Written  during  the  prevalence  of  the  disease  in  1832,  and 
while  great  terror  of  infection  from  it  was  experienced 
throughout  the  kingdom,  sanctioned  by  legislative 
authority  requiring  the  separate  interment  of  its  unfor- 
tunate victims. 

I.v  death  divided  from  their  dearest  kin, 
This  is  "  a  field  to  bury  strangers  in  :  " 
Fragments,  from  families  untimely  reft, 
Like  spoils  in  flight  or  limbs  in  battle  left, 
Lie  here;  —  a  sad  community,  whose  bones 
Might  feel,  methinks.  a  pang  to  quicken  stones; 


370 


THE  CHOLERA  MOUNT,  SHEFFIELD. 


While  from  beneath  my  feet  they  seem  to  cry, 
"  Oh  !  is  it  nought  to  you,  ye  passers  by ! 
When  from  its  earthly  house  the  spirit  fled, 
Our  dust  might  not  be  'free  among  the  dead?' 
Ah  !  why  were  we  to  this  Siberia  sent, 
Dooin'd  in  the  grave  itself  to  banishment?" 

Shuddering  humanity  asks,  "Who  are  these? 
And  what  their  crime  ?" — They  fell  by  one  disease  ! 
By  the  blue  pest,  whose  gripe  no  art  can  shun, 
No  force  uuwreneh,  out-singled  one  by  one; 
When,  like  a  monstrous  birth,  the  womb  of  fate 
Bore  a  new  death  of  unrecorded  date, 
And  doubtful  name. — Far  east  the  fiend  begun 
Its  course  ;  thence  round  the  world  pursued  the  sun, 
The  ghosts  of  millions  following  at  its  back, 
Whose  desecrated  graves  betray'd  their  track. 
On  Albion's  shores  unseen  the  invader  stept; 
Secre*  and  swift  through  field  and  city  swept; 
At  noon,  at  midnight,  seized  the  weak,  the  strong, 
Asleep,  awake,  alone,  amid  the  throng; 
Kill'd  like  a  murderer;  fix'd  its  icy  hold, 
And  wrung  out  life  with  agony  of  cold ; 
Nor  stay'd  its  vengeance  where  it  crush*d  the  prey, 
But  set  a  mark,  like  Cain's,  upon  their  clay, 
And  this  tremendous  seal  impress'd  on  all, — • 
"Bury  me  out  of  sight  and  out  of  calL" 

Wherefore  no  filial  foot  this  turf  may  tread, 
No  kneeling  mother  kiss  her  baby's  bed  : 
No  maiden,  unespoused,  with  widow'd  sighs, 
Seek  her  soul's  treasure  where  her  true  love  lies : 
— All  stand  aloof,  and  eye  this  mount  from  far, 
As  panic-stricken  crowds  some  baleful  star, 
Strange  to  the  heavens,  that,  with  bewilder'd  light, 
Like  a  lost  spirit,  wanders  through  the  night. 

Yet  many  a  mourner  weeps  her  fallen  state, 
In  many  a  home  by  these  left  desolate, 
Once  warm  with  love,  and  radiant  with  the  smiles 
Of  woman,  watching  infants  at  their  wiles, 
Whose  eye  of  thought,  when  now  they  throng  her 

knees, 
Pictures  far  other  scene  than  that  she  sees, 
For  one  is  wanting, —  one,  for  whose  dear  sake 
Her  heart  for  very  tenderness  would  ache, 
As  now  with  anguish, —  doubled  when  she  spies 
In  this  his  lineaments,  in  that  his  eyes, 

1  This  anticipation  lias  been  accomplished.    The  adjacent 
plantation  has  rapidly  grown  up;  the  ground  has  been 


In  each  his  image  with  her  own  commix'd, 

And  there,  at  least,  through  life  their  union  fix'd. 

Humanity  again  asks,  "Who  are  these? 
And  what  their  crime  ?" — They  fell  by  one  disease  ; 
Not  by  the  Proteus-maladies  that  strike 
Man  into  nothingness,  not  twice  alike; 
But  when  they  knock'd  for  entrance  at  the  tomb, 
Their  fathers'  bones  refused  to  make  them  room; 
Recoiling  Nature  from  their  presence  fled, 
As  though  a  thunderbolt  had  smote  them  dead; 
Their  cries  pursued  her  with  the  thrilling  plea, 
"  Give  us  a  little  earth  for  charity  !  " 
She  linger'd,  listen'd,  all  her  bosom  yearn'd, 
Through  every  vein  the  mother's  pulse  return'd; 
Then,  as  she  halted  on  this  hill,  she  threw 
Her  mantle  wide,  and  loose  her  tresses  flew: 
"  Live  !"  to  the  slain,  she  cried,  "  My  children,  live ! 
This  for  an  heritage  to  you  I  give : 
Had  death  consumed  you  by  the  common  lot, 
You  with  the  multitude  had  been  forgot, 
Now  through  an  age  of  ages  shall  ye  not." 

Thus  Nature  spake ;  and,  as  her  echo, 
Take  up  her  parable,  and  prophesy  : 
— Here,  as  from  Spring  to  Spring  the  swallows  pass, 
Perennial  daisies  shall  adorn  the  grass ; 
Here  the  shrill  sky-lark  build  her  annual  nest, 
And  sing  in  heaven  while  you  serenely  rest: 
On    trembling  dew-drops  morn's  first  glance  shall 

shine, 
Eve's  latest  beams  on  this  fair  bank  decline, 
And  oft  the  rainbow  steal  through  light  and  gloom, 
To  throw  its  sudden  arch  across  your  tomb ; 
On  you  the  moon  her  sweetest  influence  shower, 
And  every  planet  bless  you  in  its  hour. 

With  statelier  honours  still,  in  time's  slow  round, 
Shall  this  sepulchral  eminence  be  crown'd, 
Where  generations  long  to  come  shall  hail 
The  growth  of  centuries  waving  in  the  gale, 
A  forest  landmark  on  the  mountain's  head, 
Standing  betwixt  the  living  and  the  dead  : 
Nor,  while  your  language  lasts,  shall  traveller  cease 
To  say,  at  sight  of  your  memorial,  "Peace.'" 
Your  voice  of  silence  answering  from  the  sod, 
"  Whoe'er  thou  art,  j>repare  to  meet  thy  God.'"1 
1832. 

beautifully  laid  out:  and  in  1S:!.">  a  conspicuous  monument 
was  erected,  by  public  subscription,  on  the  spot  where 


THE  TOMBS  OF  THE  FATHERS. 


371 


THE  TOMBS  OF  THE  FATHERS. 

The  Jews  occasionally  hold  a  "  Solemn  Assembly  "  in  the 
valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  the  ancient  burial-place  of  Jeru- 
salem. They  are  obliged  to  pay  a  heavy  tax  for  the  pri- 
vilege of  thus  mourning,  in  stillness,  at  the  sepulchres 
of  their  ancestors. 

Pakt  I. 

In  Babylon  they  sat  arid  wept, 
Down  by  the  river's  willowy  side ; 

And  when  the  breeze  their  harp-strings  swept, 
The  strings  of  breaking  hearts  replied : 
—A  deeper  sorrow  now  they  hide; 

No  Cyrus  comes  to  set  them  free 

From  ages  of  captivity. 

All  lands  are  Babylons  to  them, 

Exiles  and  fugitives  they  roam  ; 
What  is  their  own  Jerusalem? 

— The  place  where  they  are  least  at  home ! 

Yet  hither  from  all  climes  they  come  ! 
And  pay  their  gold,  for  leave  to  shed 
Tears  o'er  the  generations  fled. 

Around,  the  eternal  mountains  stand, 
With  Hinnom's  darkling  vale  between  ; 

Old  Jordan  wanders  through  the  land, 
Blue  Carmel's  sea-ward  crest  is  seen, 
And  Lebanon  yet  sternly  green 

Throws,  when  the  evening  sun  declines, 

Its  cedar  shades,  in  lengthening  lines. 

tin-,  c  hundred  and  thirty-ninr  bodies,  out  of  upwards  of  four 
hundred  victims  of  the  cholera,  were  interred,  —  to  com- 
memorate the  sad  removal  of  the  sufferers  from  among  the 
living,  and  their  strange  insulation  after  death,  within 
that  humble  enclosure.  The  shaft  is  triangular,  diminish- 
ing in  stories  from  the  base  to  the  summit,  which  was 
originally  surmounted  by  a  plain  cross  of  proportionate 
elevation.  Unfortunately,  in  the  hurricane  of  January  the 
7th,  1839,  one  third  of  the  whole  was  thrown  down.  It 
has  subsequently  been  repaired,  and  crowned  with  a  less 
graceful  form  of  ere-,  by  which,  however,  the  tapering 
structure  will  .^  less  liable  to  injury  from  elemental 
violence. 

The  two  following  Sonnets  were  composed  on  visiting  the 
scene  of  dilapidation,  in  February  of  the  same  year. 
I. 
Thou  tempest-broken  column!  still  stand  on; 
More  fit  memorial  of  the  untimely  dead, 
Than  when  the  cross  upon  thy  summit  shed 
A  halo  round  this  Golgotha; — 'tis  gone, 
And  now  the  earnest  eye,  where  late  it  shone, 
Is  rapt  through  vague  infinity  instead, 
Up  the  blue  sky,  receding  over-head, 
Less  and  less  seen  the  longer  look'd  upon. 


But,  ah  !  for  ever  vanish'd  hence, 
The  temple  of  the  living  God, 

Once  Zion's  glory  and  defence  ! 

— Now  mourn  beneath  the  oppressor's  rod, 
The  fields  which  faithful  Abraham  trod, 

Where  Isaac  walk'd  by  twilight  gleam, 

And  heaven  came  down  on  Jacob's  dream. 

For  ever  mingled  with  the  soil, 

Those  armies  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 

That  conquer'd  Canaan,  shared  the  spoil, 

Quell'd  Moab's  pride,  storm'd  Midian's  posts, 
Spread  paleness  through  Philistia's  coasts, 

And  taught  the  foes,  whose  idols  fell, 

"There  is  a  God  in  Israel." 

Now,  David's  tabernacle  gone, 

What  mighty  builder  shall  restore? 

The  golden  throne  of  Solomon, 
And  ivory  palace,  are  no  more ; 
The  Psalmist's  song,  the  Preacher's  lore, 

Of  all  they  wrought,  alone  remain 

Unperish'd  trophies  of  their  reign. 

Holy  and  beautiful  of  old, 

Was  Zion  'midst  her  princely  bowers; 
Besiegers  trembled  to  behold 

Bulwarks  that  set  at  nought  their  powers; 

—  Swept  from  the  earth  are  all  her  towers; 
Nor  is  there  —  so  was  she  bereft — 
One  stone  upon  another  left. 

Thus,  where  the  fragments  of  thy  pinnacle 
Lie  at  thy  base,  as  lie  within  this  plot 
The  bones  of  buried  mortals, — while  I  dwell 
Ou  where  and  what  may  be  the  spirit's  lot. 
Thought  falls  like  night  on  my  bewilder'd  mind; 
The  more  I  search,  the  more  I  feel  I  'm  blind. 


Yet  there  is  Hope,  thou  storm-struck  monument! 
Stand  on,  though  half  thy  glory  be  laid  low 
By  an  unseen  and  instantaneous  blow : 
For,  as  the  wind,  which  thee  asunder  rent, 
Came  none  knew  whence,  and  none  knew  whither  went, 
So  the  plague  smote  the  slain  around  thee, —  so 
Surprised  its  victims;  and  with  Woe!  woe.'  woe! 
Hundreds,  unwaru'd,  to  sudden  judgment  sent. 

Not  for  the  dead,  ye  living '  but  the  unborn, 
0  let  the  symbol  of  redeeming  Love 
Again  this  renovated  shaft  adorn. 
And  point  from  death  below  to  life  above, 
That  all,  who  here  sin's  bitter  wages  see, 
May  on  this  mount  remember  Calvary  I 


372 


THE  TOMBS  OF  THE  FATHERS. 


The  very  site  whereon  she  stood, 
In  vain  the  eye,  the  foot,  would  trace ; 

Vengeance,  for  saints'  and  martyrs'  blood, 
Her  walls  did  utterly  deface  ; 
Dungeons  and  dens  usurp  their  place; 

The  cross  and  crescent  shine  afar, 

But  where  is  Jacob's  natal  star? 


Part  II. 

Still  incxterminable,  still 

Devoted  to  their  mother-land, 

Her  offspring  haunt  the  temple-hill, 
Amidst  her  desecration  stand, 
And  lite  the  lip,  and  clench  the  hand: 

—To-day  in  that  lone  vale  they  weep, 

Where  patriarchs,  kings,  and  prophets  sleep. 

Ha  !  what  a  spectacle  of  woe  ! 

In  groups  they  settle  on  the  ground ; 

Men,  women,  children,  gathering  slow, 
Sink  down  in  reverie  profound  : 
There  is  no  voice,  no  speech,  no  sound, 

But  through  the  shuddering  frame  is  thrown 

The  heart's  unutterable  groan. 

Entranced  they  sit,  nor  seem  to  breathe, 
Themselves  like  spectres  from  the  dead; 

Where,  shrined  in  rocks  above,  beneath, 
With  clods  along  the  valley  spread, 
Their  ancestors,  each  on  his  bed, 

Repose,  till,  at  the  judgment-day, 

Death  and  the  grave  give  up  their  prey. 

Before  their  eyes,  as  in  a  glass, 

— Their  eyes  that  gaze  on  vacancy, — 

Pageants  of  ancient  grandeur  pass, 
But,  "Iehabod"  on  all  they  see 
Brands  Israel's  foul  apostasy  ; 

— Then  last  and  worst,  and  crowning  all 

Their  crimes  and  sufferings  —  Salem's  fall. 

Nor  breeze,  nor  bird,  nor  palm-tree  stirs, 
Kedron's  unwater'd  brook  is  dumb  ; 

But  through  the  glen  of  sepulchres 
Is  heard  the  city's  fervid  hum, 
Voices  of  dogs  and  children  come: 


Till  loud  and  long  the  medzin's1  cry, 
From  Omar's  mosque,  peals  round  the  sky. 

Blight  through  their  veins  those  accents  send; 

In  agony  of  mute  despair, 
Their  garments,  as  by  stealth,  they  rend; 

Unconsciously  they  pluck  their  hah-; 

— This  is  the  Moslem's  hour  of  prayer ! 
'Twas  Judah's  once, —  but  fane  and  priest, 
Altar  and  sacrifice,  have  ceased. 

And  by  the  Gentiles,  in  their  pride, 

Jerusalem  is  trodden  down  : 
— "How  long?— -for  ever  wilt  Thou  hide 

Thy  face,  0  Lord  ;  —  for  ever  frown  ? 

Israel  was  once  thy  glorious  crown, 
In  sight  of  all  the  nations  worn ; 
Now  from  thy  brow  in  anger  torn. 

"Zion,  forsaken  and  forgot, 

Hath  felt  thy  stroke,  and  owns  it  just: 

0  God,  our  God  !  reject  us  not, 
Her  sons  take  pleasure  in  her  dust : 
How  is  the  fine  gold  diuim'd  with  rust ! 

The  city  throned  in  gorgeous  state, 

How  doth  she  now  sit  desolate ! 

"Where  is  thine  oath  to  David  sworn? 

We  by  the  winds  like  chaff  are  driven : 
Yet  unto  us  a  Child  is  born, 

Yet  unto  us  a  Son  is  given ; 

His  throne  is  as  the  days  of  Heaven : 
When  shall  He  come  to  our  release, 
The  mighty  God,  the  Prince  of  Peace?" 


Part  III. 

Thus  blind  with  unbelief  they  cry, 
But  hope  revisits  not  their  glooms  ; 

Seal'd  are  the  words  of  prophecy, 
Seal'd  as  the  secrets  of  yon  tombs, 
Where  all  is  dark, —  though  nature  blooms, 

Birds  sing,  streams  murmur,  heaven  above 

And  earth  around  are  life,  light,  love. 

i  More  properly  "  muedhin's,"  the  person  whose  bustneae 

it  is  to  call  the  Mohammedans  to  prayer;  no  bells  being 
used  by  them  for  that  purpose. 


A  CRY  FROM  SOUTH  AFRICA. 


373 


The  sun  goes  down  ;  —  the  mourning  crowds, 
Re-quicken'd,  as  from  slumber  start : 

They  met  in  silence  here  like  clouds, 
Like  clouds  in  silence  they  depart; 
Still  clings  the  thought  to  every  heart, 

Still  from  their  lips  escapes  in  sighs, 

— "  By  whom  shall  Jacob  yet  arise  ? " 

By  whom  shall  Jacob  yet  arise  ? 
—  Even  by  the  Power  that  wakes  the  dead : 

He  whom  your  fathers  did  despise, 
He  who  for  you  on  Calvary  bled, 
On  Zion  shall  his  ensign  spread; 

—  Captives  !  by  all  the  world  enslaved, 

Know  your  Redeemer,  and  be  saved  ! 

1828. 


A  CRY  FROM  SOUTH  AFRICA. 

On  building  a  chapel  at  Cape  Town,  for  the  Negro  slaves  of 
the  colony,  in  1S2S. 

Afric,  from  her  remotest  strand, 

Lifts  to  high  heaven  one  fetter'd  hand, 

And  to  the  utmost  of  her  chain 

Stretches  the  other  o'er  the  main  ; 

Then,  kneeling  'midst  ten  thousand  slaves, 

Utters  a  cry  across  the  waves, 

Of  power  to  reach  to  either  pole, 

And  pierce,  like  conscience,  through  the  soul, 

Though  dreary,  faint,  and  low  the  sound, 

Like  life-blood  gurgling  from  a  wound, 

As  if  her  heart,  before  it  broke, 

Had  found  a  human  tongue,  and  spoke. 

"Britain  !  not  now  I  ask  of  thee 
Freedom,  the  right  of  bond  and  free : 
Let  Mammon  hold,  while  Mammon  can, 
The  bones  and  blood  of  living  man  ; 
Let  tyrants  scorn,  while  tyrants  dare, 
The  shrieks  and  writhings  of  despair; 
An  end  mill  come — ■  it  will  not  wait, 
Bonds,  yokes,  and  scourges  have  their  date, 
Slavery  itself  must  pass  away, 
And  be  a  tale  of  yesterday. 


"  But  now  I  urge  a  dearer  claim, 
And  urge  it  by  a  mightier  name : 
Hope  of  the  world  on  thee  I  call, 
By  the  great  Father  of  us  all, 
By  the  Redeemer  of  our  race, 
And  by  the  Spirit  of  all  grace ; 
Turn  not,  Britannia,  from  my  plea; 

—  So  help  Thee  God  as  Thou  help'st  me! 
Mine  outcast  children  come  to  light 
From  darkness,  and  go  down  in  night; 
— A  night  of  more  mysterious  gloom, 
Than  that  which  wrapt  them  in  the  womb ; 
Oh !  that  the  womb  had  been  the  grave 

Of  every  being  born  a  slave ! 

Oh!  that  the  grave  itself  might  close 

The  slave's  unutterable  woes ! 

But  what  beyond  that  gulf  may  be, 

What  portion  in  eternity, 

For  those  who  live  to  curse  their  breath, 

And  die  without  a  hope  in  death, 

I  know  not,  and  I  dare  not  think ; 

Yet,  whilo  I  shudder  o'er  the  brink 

Of  that  unfathomable  deep, 

Where  wrath  lies  chain'd  and  judgments  sleep, 

To  thee,  thou  paradise  of  isles  ! 

Where  mercy  in  full  glory  smiles  ; 

Eden  of  lands  !  o'er  all  the  rest 

By  blessing  others  doubly  blest, 

—  To  thee  I  lift  my  weeping  eye ; 
Send  me  the  Gospel,  or  I  die; 

The  word  of  Christ's  salvation  give, 
That  I  may  hear  his  voice  and  live." 


MY  FRIEXD,  GEORGE  BENNET,  ESQ., 

OF    SHEFFIELD, 

On  his  intended  visit  to  Tahiti,  and  other  islands  of  the 
South  Sea,  where  Christianity  had  been  recently  esta- 
blished. 

Go,  take  the  wings  of  morn, 

And  fly  beyond  the  utmost  sea; 

Thou  shalt  not  feel  thyself  forlorn, 

Thy  God  is  still  with  thee ; 

And  where  his  Spirit  bids  thee  dwell, 

There,  and  there  only,  thou  art  well. 


374 


TO  GEORGE  BENNET,  ESQ. 


Forsake  thy  father-land, 

Kindred,  and  friends,  and  pleasant  home; 

O'er  many  a  rude  barbarian  strand 

In  exile  though  thou  roam, 

Walk  there  with  God,  and  thou  shalt  find 

Double  for  all  thy  faith  resign'd. 

Launch  boldly  on  the  surge, 

And,  in  a  light  and  fragile  bark, 

Thy  path  through  flood  and  tempest  urge, 

Like  Noah  in  the  ark, 

Then  tread  like  him  a  new  world's  shore. 

Thine  altar  build,  and  God  adore. 

Leave  our  Jerusalem, 

Jehovah's  temple  and  his  rest; 

Go  where  no  Sabbath  rose  on  them 

Whom  pagan  gloom  oppress'd, 

Till  bright,  though  late,  around  their  isles, 

The  Gospel-dawn  awoke  in  smiles. 

Amidst  that  dawn,  from  far, 
Be  thine  expected  presence  shown  : 
Rise  on  them  like  the  morning-star 
In  glory  not  thine  own, 
And  tell  them,  while  they  hail  the  sight, 
Who  turn'd  tluj  darkness  into  light. 

Point  where  His  hovering  rays, 
Already  gild  their  ocean's  brim, 
Erelong  o'er  heaven  and  earth  to  blaze ; 
Direct  all  eyes  to  nim, 
—  The  Sun  of  Righteousness,  who  brings 
Mercy  and  healing  on  his  wings. 

Nor  thou  disdain  to  teach 

To  savage  hordes  celestial  truth, 

To  infant-tongues  thy  mother's  speech, 

Ennobling  arts  to  youth, 

Till  warriors  fling  their  arms  aside, 

O'er  bloodless  fields  the  plough  to  guide. 

Train  them,  by  patient  toil, 
To  rule  the  waves,  subdue  the  ground, 
Enrich  themselves  with  nature's  spoil, 
With  harvest  trophies  crown'd, 
Till  coral-reefs,  'midst  desert  seas, 
Become  the  new  Hesperides. 


Thus  then  in  peace  depart, 

And  angels  guide  thy  footsteps  : — No! 

There  is  a  feeling  in  the  heart, 

That  will  not  let  thee  go  : 

Yet  go, —  thy  spirit  stays  with  me ; 

Yet  go, —  my  spirit  goes  with  thee. 

Though  the  broad  world,  between 

Our  feet,  conglobe  its  solid  mass  ; 

Though  lands  and  oceans  intervene 

Which  I  must  never  pass ; 

Though  day  and  night  to  thee  be  changed, 

Seasons  reversed,  and  climes  estranged  ; 

Yet  one  in  soul,  —  and  one 

In  faith,  and  hope,  and  purpose  yet, 

Gon's  witness  in  the  heavens,  yon  sun,  • 

Forbid  thee  to  forget 

Those  from  whose  eyes  his  orb  retires, 

When  thine  his  morning  beauty  fires ! 

When  tropic  gloom  returns, 

Mark  what  new  stars  their  vigils  keep, 

How  glares  the  wolf, —  the  phoenix  burns, 

And  on  a  stormless  deep, 

The  ship  of  heaven, —  the  patriarch's  dove, 

The  emblem  of  redeeming  love.1 

While  these  enchant  thine  eye, 

0  think  how  often  we  have  walk'd, 

Gazed  on  the  glories  of  our  sky, 

Of  higher  glories  talk'd, 

Till  our  hearts  caught  a  kindling  ray, 

And  burn'd  within  us  by  the  way. 

Those  hours,  those  walks,  are  past; 
We  part; — -and  ne'er  again  may  meet; 
Why  arc  the  joys  that  will  not  last 
So  perishingly  sweet? 
Farewell, —we  surely  meet  again 
In  life  or  death  ;  — farewell  till  then. 
Sheffield,  March  10, 1821. 


i  The  cross,  the  dove,  the  ship,  the  phoenix,  and  the  wolf, 
are  southern  constellations. 


STANZAS  IN  MEMORY  OF  REV.  JAMES  HARVEY. 


375 


STANZAS    IN   MEMORY    OF 

THE  REV.  JAMES  IIARYEY, 
Of  Weston  FaveU,  Northamptonshire; 

Who  died  on  Christmas  Day,  1T5S,  aged  43  Years. 

Composed  on  an  occasional  celebration  of  his  virtues  and 
talents,  at  that  village,  in  1833. 

Where  is  the  house  for  all  the  living  found  ? 

—  Go  ask  the  deaf,  the  dumb,  the  dead; 

All  answer,  without  voice  or  sound, 

Each  resting  in  his  bed ; 

Look  down  and  see, 

Beneath  thy  feet, 

A  place  for  thee; 

— There  all  the  living  meet. 

Whence  come  the  beauteous  progeny  of  Spring? 

— They  hear  a  still,  small  voice,  "Awake  !" 

And,  while  the  lark  is  on  the  wing, 

From  dust  and  darkness  break; 

Flowers  of  all  hues 

Laugh  in  the  gale, 

Sparkle  with  dews, 

And  dance  o'er  hill  and  dale. 

Who   leads   through   trackless    space   the    stars 

of  night? 
— The  Power  that  made  them  guides  them  still ; 
They  know  Him  not,  yet,  day  and  night, 
They  do  his  perfect  will : 
Unchanged  by  age, 
They  hold  on  high 
Their  pilgrimage 
Of  glory  round  the  sky. 

Stars,  flowers,  and   tombs  were   themes   for   so- 
lemn thought 
With  him  whose  memory  we  recall; 
Yet  more  than  eye  can  see  he  sought: 
His  spirit  look'd  through  all, 
Keenly  discern'd 
The  truths  they  teach, 
Their  lessons  learn'd, 
And  gave  their  silence  speech. 

Go,  meditate  with  him  among  the  tombs, 
And  there  the  end  of  all  things  view; 


Visit  with  him  Spring's  earliest  blooms, 

See  all  things  there  made  new ; 

Thence  rapt  aloof 

In  ecstasy, 

Hear,  from  heaven's  roof, 

Stars  preach  eternity. 

We  call  him  blessed  whom  the  Lord  hath  blest 

And  made  a  blessing;  —  long  to  shed 

Light  on  the  living,  from  his  rest, 

And  hope  around  the  dead : 

Oh !  for  his  lot, 

Who  dwells  in  light, 

Where  flowers  fade  not, 

And  stars  can  find  no  night. 


ONE  WARNING  MORE. 

WRITTEN  FOR  DISTRIBUTION  ON  A  RACE-COURSE,   1824. 

One  fervent  faithful  warning  more 
To  him  who  heeded  none  before. 

The  fly  around  the  candle  wheels, 

Enjoys  the  sport,  and  gaily  sings, 

Till,  nearer,  nearer  borne,  he  feels 

The  flame  like  lightning  singe  his  wings  ; 

Then  weltering  in  the  gulf  below  he  lies, 

And  limb  by  limb,  scorch'd  miserably,  dies. 

From  bough  to  bough,  the  wild  bird  hops, 
Where  late  he  caroll'd  blithe  and  free, 
Rut  downward,  downward,  now  he  drops, 
Faint,  fluttering,  helpless  from  the  tree, 
Where,  stretch'd  below,  with  eye  of  deadly  ray, 
The  eager  rattle-snake  expects  his  prey. 

Thou,  child  of  pleasure,  art  the  fly, 

Drawn  by  the  taper's  dazzling  glare ; 

Thou  art  the  bird  that  meets  an  eye, 

Alluring  to  the  serpent's  snare; 

Oh  !  stay  : — is  reason  lost? — is  conscience  dumb? 

Be  wise,  be  warn'd,  escape  the  wrath  to  come. 

Not  swifter  o'er  the  level  course 

The  racer  glances  to  the  goal, 

Than  thou  with  blind  and  headlong  force 

Art  running  on  — to  lose  thy  soul;  [cost! 

Then,  though  the  world  were  won,  how  dear  the 

Can  the  whole  world  avail  a  spirit  lost  ? 


Death  on  his  pale  horse,  following  fast, 

Gains  on  thy  speed, — with  hell  behind; 

Fool !  all  thy  yesterdays  are  past, 

To-morrow  thou  wilt  never  find; 

To-day  is  hastening  to  eternity; 

"This  night  thy  soul  shall  be  required  of  thee." 


THE   VEIL. 

There  is  a  veil  no  mortal  hand  can  draw, 
Which  hides  what  eye  of  mortal  never  saw; 
Through  that  (each  moment  by  the  dying  riven) 
Could  but  a  glance  be  to  the  living  given, 
How  into  nothing,  less  than  nothing,  all 
Life's  vanities,  life's  verities,  would  fall, 
And  that  alone  of  priceless  worth  be  deem'd 
Which  is  most  lightly  by  the  world  esteem'd ! 

Enough  is  known  ;  there  is  a  heaven,  a  hell ; 
Who  'scapes  the  last,  and  wins  the  first,  doth  well : 
Whither  away,  my  soul !  — in  which  wouldst  thou 
Emerge  from  life,  were  death  to  smite  me  now  ? 
1S34. 


A   RIDDLE. 

ADDRESSED  TO  E.   R.,   1S20. 

I  know  not  who  these  lines  may  see  ; 
I  know  not  what  these  lines  will  be ; 
But,  since  a  word  in  season  sent, 
As  from  a  bow  at  hazard  bent, 
May  reach  a  roving  eye,  or  dart 
Conviction  to  a  careless  heart, 
Oh !  that  an  arrow  I  could  find 
In  the  small  quiver  of  my  mind, 
Which,  with  unerring  aim,  should  strike 
Each,  who  encounters  it,  alike  ! 

Reader  !  attention  !  —  I  will  spring 
A  wondrous  thought;  'tis  on  the  wing: 
Guard  well  your  heart,  you  guard  in  vain, 
The  wound  is  made,  yet  gives  no  pain ; 
Surprise  may  make  your  cheek  to  glow, 
But,  courage  !  none  but  you  can  know; 
The  thought,  awaken  \1  by  my  spell, 
Is  more  than  I  myself  can  tell. 


How?  —  search  the  chamber  of  your  breast, 
And  think  of  that  which  you  love  best! 
I've  raised  the  spirit,  but  cannot  lay  it, 
Tour  secret  found,  but  can't  betray  it. 
So,  ask  yourself, — "What  will  this  be, 
A  thousand  ages  hence,  to  me?" 
And  if  it  will  not  stand  the  fire 
In  which  all  nature  shall  expire, 
Think, —  ere  these  rhymes  aside  are  cast, — 
As  though  the  thought  might  be  your  last, 
"Where  shall  I  find  below,  above, 
An  object  worthy  of  my  love?" 

Now  hearken,  and  forget  it  never, — 
Love  that  which  you  may  love  for  ever. 


ON  A  WATCH-POCKET 

WORKED  BY   A.   L. 

Within'  this  curious  case, 

Time's  sentinel  I  place, 

Who,  while  calm  unconscious  slumber 

Shuts  creation  from  mine  eyes, 

Through  the  silent  gloom  shall  number 

Every  moment  as  it  flies, 

And  record,  at  dawn  of  day, 

Thrice  ten  thousand  pass'd  away. 

On  each  of  these,  my  breath 
May  pause  'twixt  life  and  death, 
By  a  subtler  line  depending 
Than  the  ray  of  twinkling  light 
Which  the  smallest  star  is  sending, 
Every  instant,  through  the  night; 
Yea,  on  films  more  finely  spun, 
All  things  hang,  beneath  the  sun. 

Rapt  through  a  wildering  dream, 
Awake  in  sleep  I  seem; 
Sorrow  wrings  my  soul  with  anguish, 
Joy  expands  my  throbbing  breast ; 
Now,  o'erwbclm'd  with  care,  I  languish, 
Now  serene  and  tranquil  rest; 
— Morning  comes,  and  all  between 
Is  as  though  it  ne'er  had  been. 


But  Time  lias  daylight  hours, 
And  man  immortal  powers; 
Waking  joy  and  sleepless  sorrow, 
Worldly  care  and  heavenly  peace; 
Life,  renew'd  with  every  morrow, 
Not  in  death  itself  shall  cease; 
Man,  through  all  eternity, 
What  he  here  hath  been  shall  be. 

May  she,  whose  skilful  hand 
This  fairy  net-work  plann'd, 
Still,  in  innocent  employment, 
Far  from  vanity  and  vice, 
Seek  the  Pearl  of  pure  enjoyment, 
On  her  path  to  Paradise; 
Time,  for  earth  or  heaven  employ 'd, 
(Both  have  claims,)  is  time  enjoy *d. 

Each  day  to  her,  in  flight, 
Bequeath  a  gem  at  night; 
Some  sweet  hope,  some  hallow'd  pleasure, 
From  remembrance  ne'er  to  part : 
Hourly  blessings  swell  the  treasure 
Hidden  in  her  grateful  heart, 
And  may  every  moment  past 
Leave  a  ray  to  gild  her  last! 
1821. 


TO   CYNTHIA, 

A  young  Lady,  unknown  to  the  Author,  who.  by  letter,  re- 
quested "  a  stanza,"  or  '•  a  few  lines  iu  his  handwriting." 

Spirits  in  heaven  can  interchange 
Thoughts  without  voice  or  sound  ; 
Spirits  on  earth  at  will  can  range, 
Wherever  man  is  found  ; 
Their  thoughts  (as  silent  and  as  fleet 
As  summer  lightnings  in  the  west, 
When  evening  sinks  to  glorious  rest,) 
In  written  symbols  meet. 

The  motion  of  a  feather  darts 
The  secrets  of  sequester'd  hearts 
To  kindred  hearts  afar; 
As,  in  the  stillness  of  the  night, 
Quick  rays  of  intermingling  light 
Sparkle  from  star  to  star. 


A  spirit  to  a  spirit  speaks, 
Where  these  few  letters  stand  ; 
Strangers  alike, —  the  younger  seeks 
A  token  from  the  hand 
That  traced  an  unpretending  song, 
Whose  numbers  won  her  gentle  soul, 
While,  like  a  mountain-rill,  they  stole 
In  trembling  harmony  along:  — 
What  shall  the  poet's  spirit  send 
To  his  unseen,  unseeing  friend? 
— A  wish  as  pure  as  e'er  had  birth 
In  thought  or  language  of  this  earth. 

Cynthia  is  young, —  may  she  be  old; 
And  fair,  no  doubt, —  may  she  grow  wrinkled; 
Her  locks,  in  verse  at  least,  are  gold, 
May  they  turn  silver,  thinly  sprinkled; 
The  rose  her  cheek,  the  fire  her  eye, 
Youth,  health,  and  strength,  successive  fly, 
And  in  the  end, —  may  Cynthia  die  ! 

"  Unkind  !  inhuman  ! " Stay  your  tears  ; 

I  only  wish  you  length  of  years  ; 
And  wish  them  still,  with  all  their  woes, 
And  all  their  blessings,  till  the  close; 
For  hope  and  fear,  with  anxious  strife, 
Are  wrestlers  in  the  ring  of  life, 
And  yesterday,  to-day,  to-morrow, 
Are  but  alternate  joy  and  sorrow. 

Now  mark  the  sequel : — -may  your  mind 
In  wisdom's  paths  true  pleasure  find; 
Grow  strong  in  virtue,  rich  in  truth, 
And  year  by  year  renew  its  youth  ; 
Till,  iu  the  last  triumphant  hour, 
The  tpirit  shall  the  flesh  o'erpower, — 
This  from  its  sufferings  gain  release, 
And  that  take  wing,  and  part  in  peace. 


FOR  J.    S.: 

A   PREAMBLE    TO    HER   ALBUM. 

'Ut  pietura  poesis." — Hor  De  Arte  Foctica,  v.  361. 

Two  lovely  sisters  here  unite 

To  blend  improvement  with  delight, — 

Painting  and  Poetry  engage 

To  deck  by  turns  the  varied  page. 


378 


TO  MARGARET.— TO  MARY. 


Here  ever}'  glowing  picture  be 
The  quintessence  of  poesy, 
With  skill  so  exquisitely  wrought 
As  if  the  colours  were  pure  thought, 
—Thought,  from  the  bosom's  inmost  cell, 
By  magic  tints  made  visible, 
That,  while  the  eye  admires,  the  mind, 
As  in  a  glass,  itself  may  find. 

And  may  the  Poet's  verse,  alike, 
With  all  the  power  of  painting  strike, 
So  freely,  so  divinely,  trace 
In  every  line  "the  line  of  grace," 
And  beautify  with  such  sweet  art 
The  image-chamber  of  the  heart, 
That  Fancy  here  may  gaze  her  fill, 
Forming  fresh  scenes  and  shapes  at  will, 
Where  silent  words  alone  appear, 
Or,  borrowing  voice,  but  touch  the  ear. 

Yet  humble  Frose  with  these  shall  stand, 
Friends,  kindred,  comrades,  hand  in  hand, 
All  in  this  fair  enclosure  meet, 
The  lady  of  the  book  to  greet, 
And,  with  the  pen  or  pencil,  make 
The  leaves  love-tokens  for  her  sake. 


TO   MARGARET, 

A  little  Girl,  who  begged  to  have  some  Verses  from  the 
Author,  at  Scarborough,  in  1S14. 

Margaret  !  we  never  met  before, 
And,  Margaret !  we  may  meet  no  more; 
What  shall  I  say  at  parting? 
Scarce  half  a  moon  has  run  her  race 
Since  first  I  saw  your  fair3'-face, 
Around  this  gay  and  giddy  place, 
Sweet  smiles  and  blushes  darting; 
Yet  from  my  soul,  I  frankly  tell, 
I  cannot  help  but  wish  you  well. 

I  dare  not  wish  you  stores  of  wealth, 
A  troop  of  friends,  unfailing  health, 
And  freedom  from  affliction  ; 
I  dare  not  wish  you  beauty's  prize, 
Carnation  lips,  and  bright  blue  eyes; 
These  look  thrgugh  tears,  those  breathe  in  sighs ; — 
Hear,  then,  my  benediction  : 


Of  these  good  gifts  be  you  possest 
Just  in  the  measure  God  sees  best. 

But,  little  Margaret,  may  you  be 
All  that  His  eye  delights  to  see, 
All  that  He  loves  and  blesses; 
The  Lord  in  darkness  be  your  light, 
Your  help  in  need,  your  shield  in  fight, 
Your  comfort  in  distresses; 
Your  hope  through  every  future  breath, 
And  your  eternal  joy  in  death  ! 


ON   THE 

FIRST  LEAF  OF  MISS  J.'S  ALBUM. 

What  thoughts,  beyond  the  reach  of  thought 

To  guess  what  they  may  be, 

Shall  in  succession  here  be  brought 

From  depths  no  eye  can  see ! 

Those  thoughts  are  now  upon  their  way, 
Like  light  from  stars  unseen, 
Though,  ere  they  reach  us,  many  a  day 
And  year  may  intervene  :  — 

Thoughts,   which    shall    spring   in   friendship's 

breast, 
Or  genius  touch  with  fire; 
Thoughts,  which  good  angels  may  suggest, 
Or  God  himself  inspire. 

Such,  o'er  these  pages  pure  and  white, 

By  many  a  willing  hand, 

Be  writ  in  characters  of  light, 

And  here  unfading  stand  ! 

That  she  who  owns  the  whole  may  find, 
Reveal'd  in  every  part, 
The  trace  of  some  ingenuous  mind, 
The  love  of  some  warm  heart. 


TO  MARY. 

Mary  !  —  it  is  a  lovely  name, 
Thrice  hallow'd  in  the  rolls  of  fame, 
Not  for  the  blazonry  of  birth, 
Nor  honours  springing  from  the  earth, 


SHORT-HAND.  — THE  GNAT. 


379 


But  what  evangelists  have  told 

Of  three  who  bare  that  name  of  old; 

—  Mary,  the  mother  of  our  Lord  ; 

Mary,  who  sat  to  hear  his  word; 

And  Mary  Magdalen,  to  whom 

Christ  came,  while  weeping  o'er  his  tomb; 

These  to  that  humble  name  supply 

A  glory  which  can  never  die. 

Mary  !  my  prayer  for  you  shall  be, — 
May  you  resemble  all  the  three 
In  faith,  and  hope,  and  charity. 


SHORT-HAND. 

STANZAS    ADDRESSED    TO    E.  P. 

These  Hues  and  dots  are  locks  and  keys, 
In  narrow  space  to  treasure  thought, 
Whose  precious  hoards,  whene'er  you  please, 
Are  thus  to  light  from  darkness  brought. 

On  the  small  tablet  of  your  heart, 
By  Heaven's  own  finger,  be  engraved, 
Within,  without,  through  every  part, 
The  "  words  whereby  you  must  be  saved." 

There  the  bright  pages  of  God's  book 
In  secret  characters  may  lie, 
Where  you  alone  have  power  to  look, 
While  hid  from  man  and  angel's  eye. 

Could  nature's  mysteries  all  be  found, 
Unbosom'd,  where  the  billows  roll, 
In  flowers  embroider'd  o'er  the  ground, 
By  stars  emblazon'd  round  the  pole  ;  — 

Less  were  the  sum  of  truth  reveal'd, 
Through  heaven,  and  earth,  and  sea  espress'd, 
Than  would  be  written,  sign'd,  and  seal'd, 
Once  and  for  ever,  in  your  breast. 
1828. 


THE  BLANK  LEAF. 

Fair  page  !  the  eye  that  looks  on  thee 
Ere  long  shall  slumber  in  the  dust 
And  wako  no  more,  until  it  see 
The  resurrection  of  the  just : 
—  May  he,  to  whom  that  eye  belongs, 
Join  their  assembly  and  their  songs  ! 

Whoso  is  that  eye?  —  Just  now  'tis  mine, 
But,  reader  !  when  thou  look'st  'tis  thine. 
1825. 


THE  GNAT. 

Written  with  pencil  round  an  insect  of  that  kind,  which 
had  been  accidentally  crushed,  and  remained  fixed  on 
a  blank  page  of  a  lady's  album. 

Lie  here  embalm'd,  from  age  to  age; 
This  is  the  album's  noblest  page, 
Though  every  glowing  leaf  be  fraught 
With  painting,  poetry,  and  thought ; 
Where  tracks  of  mortal  hands  are  seen, 
A  hand  invisible  hath  been, 
And  left  this  autograph  behind, 
This  image  from  the'  eternal  Mind; 
A  work  of  skill  surpassing  sense, 
A  labour  of  Omnipotence; 
Though  frail  as  dust  it  meet  thine  eye, 
He  form'd  this  gnat  who  built  the  sky. 

Stop  —  lest  it  vanish  at  thy  breath, 
This  speck  had  life,  and  suffer'd  death. 
1832. 


AN  INFANT'S  ALBUM. 

A.  II.  R.  to  her  friends  and  contributors :  written  to  accom- 
pany her  portrait  at  the  beginning  of  the  book. 

Now  look  upon  my  face  and  say 
If  you  can  turn  your  eyes  away, 
Nor  grant  the  little  boon  I  ask, 
As  if  it  were  some  mighty  task. 

What  is  it  ?  —  Only  take  your  pen, 
Look  wise,  and  think  a  moment, — then 


3S0 


AX  INFANTS  ALBDM.  —  A  WEDDING  WISH. 


Write  anything,  to  which,  for  shame, 

You  need  not  fear  to  put  your  name  ; 

Or,  with  a  pencil's  curious  skill, 

Draw  flowers,  birds,  figures, — what  you  will ; 

I,  like  my  elders  and  my  betters, 

Love  pictures  quite  as  well  as  letters. 

Thus,  page  by  page,  my  album  store, 

Till  it  an  album  be  no  more, 

But  richly  fill'd,  from  end  to  end, 

On  every  leaf  present  a  Friend. 

Xow  look  upon  my  face,  and  see 
Yourself,  your  very  self,  in  me ; 
Were  you  not  once  as  mild  and  meek, 
With  lip  demure,  and  plump  round  cheek  ? 
Did  you  not  sometimes,  too,  look  sly 
Out  of  the  corner  of  your  eye, 
As  if  you  held  an  infant's  jest, 
Like  a  bird  fluttering,  to  your  breast, 
Which  wanted  but  an  inch  of  wing, 
Up  through  the  air  to  soar  and  sing  ? 
So  I  can  feign  to  hide  a  joke, 
And  be  as  rich  as  graver  folk. 

Well,  time  runs  on,  and  I,  you  know, 
As  tall  and  stout  as  you  may  grow, 
Nay,  more  unlike  my  portrait  here, 
Than  you  just  now  like  me  appear. 
Ah !  then,  if  I  must  change  so  fast, 
What  will  become  of  me  at  last? 
— A  poor  old  woman  of  fourscore  ! 
That's  a  long  way  to  look  before, 
So  I  would  learn  of  you,  meanwhile, 
How  best  the  journey  to  beguile. 
Look  in  my  face  again,  you'll  find 
The  album  of  an  infant's  mind, 
Unsoil'd  by  care,  unworn  by  grief, 
Like  new-fall'n  snow  each  maiden-leaf, 
On  which,  if  not  in  black  and  white, 
In  lines  eternal  you  may  write 
All  that  is  lovely,  pure,  and  good, 
To  be  possess'd  or  understood. 

Then,  in  this  volume,  as  it  lies, 
Trace  words  and  pictures  to  my  eyes, 
Which,  thence,  their  mystic  way  may  find 
Into  that  album  of  my  mind, 
And  there  impress  each  opening  page 
With  thoughts  for  childhood,  youth,  and  age ; 
Breathe  a  sweet  spirit  through  the  whole, 
That,  like  a  soul  within  my  soul, 


Shall,  by  the  early  impulse  given, 
Guide  me  on  earth,  and  bring  to  heaven. 
Let  every  leaf  unfold  a  text, 
Either  for  this  world  or  the  next; 
To  learn  of  each,  I'm  nothing  loth, 
They  tell  me  I  was  born  for  both. 
Let  mirth  with  innocence  combine, 
And  human  knowledge  aid  divine. 

Thus  form'd  by  it,  and  it  by  you, 
This  Book  shall  render  each  their  due : 
For  whoso  peeps  therein  may  start, 
As  though  he  look'd  into  my  heart; 
And  if  he  did,  you  must  beware, 
That  he  would  see  your  image  there; 
Then  grant  the  boon  with  such  a  grace, 
That  you  may  have  a  good  warm  place  : 
— Walk  in,  walk  in;  my  heart,  though  small, 
Is  large  enough  to  hold  you  all. 

1828. 


A  WEDDING  WISH. 

TO   MR.   AND   MRS.   H. 

A  leading  light  of  midnight  skies 

Appears  but  one  to  seamen's  eyes, 

Yet  twain  there  are, 

And  each  a  star, 

Perhaps  a  sun  :  — 

May  you,  my  Friends,  reverse  the  view, 

And  while  on  earth  you  look  like  Two, 

From  heaven  be  seen  as  One; 

Yea,  like  that  graceful  symbol,  be 

A  double  star  of  constancy.1 


MOTTO  TO  "A  POET'S  PORTFOLIO," 

(FRAGMENT  OP   A   PAGE  OF  OBLTVIOX.) 

Fall's  feathers  of  a  moulting  wing, 
Which  ne'er  again  may  soar; 
X<ites  sung  in  autumn  woods,  where  Spring 
Shall  hear  their  sounds  no  more  : 
Her  voice  and  plume  —  the  bird  renews ; 
Man  falls  but  once  ;  —  'tis  in  the  tomb 
His  strength  he  mews. 
1S35. 

1  "A  bright  particular  star.''  in  the  northern  hemi- 
sphere, seen  through  a  powerful  telescope,  appears  to  te 
two,  very  near  together. 


THE   AVI  DOM'. 


381 


THE  VALENTINE  WREATH. 

Rosy-red  the  hills  appear 

With  the  light  of  morning, 

Beauteous  clouds  in  ether  clear, 

All  the  east  adorning; 

White  through  mist  the  meadows  shine,- 

AVake,  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

For  thy  locks  of  raven-hue, 
Flowers  with  hoar-frost  pearly, 
Crocus-cups  of  gold  and  blue, 
Snow-drops  drooping  earl)-, 
With  mezereon-sprigs  combine; 
Rise,  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

O'er  the  margin  of  the  flood 
Pluck  the  daisy,  peeping; 
Through  the  dry  leaves  in  the  wood 
Hunt  the  sorrel,  creeping; 
With  the  little  celandine 
Crown  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

Pansies,  on  their  lowly  stems, 
Scatter'd  o'er  the  fallows  ; 
Hazel-buds,  with  crimson  gems, 
Green  and  glossy  sallows  ; 
Tufted  moss  and  ivy-twine, 
Deck  my  love,  my  Valentine  ! 

Few  and  simple  flowerets  these; 
Yet  to  me  less  glorious 
Garden-beds  and  orchard-trees, 
Since  this  wreath  victorious 
Binds  thee  now  for  ever  mine, 
0  my  love,  my  Valentine ! 
1811. 


THE   AVIDOW. 

Written  at  the  request  of  a  lady,  who  furnished  several 
of  the  lines,  and  the  plan  of  the  whole. 

Ah  !  who  is  she  that  sits  and  weeps, 
And  gazes  on  the  narrow  mound? 
—In  that  fresh  grave  her  true  love  sleeps, 
Her  heart  lies  with  him  in  the  ground : 
She  heeds  not,  while  her  babe,  at  play. 
Plucks  the  frail  flowers,  that  gaily  bloom, 


And  casts  them,  ere  they  fade  away, 

In  garlands,  on  its  father's  tomb; 

— Unconscious  where  its  father  lies, 

"Sweets  to  the  sweet!"  the  prattler  cries; 
Ah!  then  she  starts,  looks  up,  her  eyes  o'erflow 
With  all  a  mother's  love,  and  all  a  widow's  woe. 

Again  she  turns  away  her  head, 
Nor  marks  her  infant's  sportive  air, 
Its  cherub-cheeks  all  rosy-red, 
Its  sweet  blue  eyes  and  ringlet-hair; 
Silent  she  turns  away  her  head, 
Nor  dare  behold  that  smile-bright  face, 
Where  live  the  features  of  the  dead 
In  lineaments  of  fairy-grace  : 
For  there  at  once,  with  transport  wild, 
She  sees  her  husband  and  her  child; 
Ah  !  then  her  bosom  burns,  her  eyes  o'erflow 
AVith  all  a  mother's  love,  and  all  a  widow's  woe. 

And  still  I  find  her  sitting  here, 

Though  dark  October  frowns  on  all ; 

And  from  the  lime-trees  rustling  near, 

The  scatter'd  leaves  around  her  fall : 

0  then"  it  charms  her  inmost  soul, 

It  suits  the  sadness  of  her. mind, 

To  watch  the  clouds  of  Autumn  roll, 

And  listen  to  the  moaning  wind; 

In  every  shadow,  every  blast, 

The  spirits  of  enjoyments  past, 
She  sees,  she  hears;  —  ah  !  then  her  eyes  o'erflow, 
Not  with  the  mother's  love,  but  with  the  widow's 
woe. 

Yon  peasant  dreads  a  gathering  storm, 
Yet  pauses  as  be  hastens  by, 
Marks  the  pale  ruin  of  her  form, 
The  desolation  of  her  eye; 
Beholds  her  babe  for  shelter  creep 
Behind  the  grave-stone's  dreary  shade, 
AVhere  all  its  father's  sorrows  sleep, 
And  all  its  mother's  hopes  are  laid : 
Remembering  then  his  own  heart's  joy, 
A  rosy  wife,  a  blooming  boy ; 
"Ah  me !"  he  sighs,  "when  I  am  thus  laid  low, 
Must   my  poor   partner  feel   a   widow'd   mother's 
woe  ?" 

He  gently  stretches  out  his  arm, 
And  calls  the  babe  in  accents  mild ; 


382 


IX  MEMORY  OF  E.  B.  AXD  E.  G. 


The  mother  shrieks  with  strange  alarm, 
And  snatches  up  her  wondering  child ; 
She  thought  that  voice  of  tender  tone, 
Those  accents  soft,  endearing,  kind, 
Came  from  beneath  the  hollow  stone ! 
—  He  marks  the  wandering  of  her  mind, 
And,  thankful  for  his  happier  lot, 
Seeks  the  warm  comforts  of  his  cot; 
He  meets  his  wife  :  —  ah  !  then  his  eyes  o'erflow  : 
She  feels  a  mother's  love,  nor  dreads  a  widow's  woe. 

The  storm  retire?  :  —  and  hark  !  the  bird, 
The  lonely  bird  of  autumn's  reign, 
From  the  church  pinnacle  is  heard; 
0  what  a  clear  and  simple  strain  ! 
See  the  delighted  mourner  start, 
"While  Robin  red-breast's  evening  song 
Pours  all  its  sweetness  through  her  heart, 
And  soothes  it  as  it  trills  along: 
Then  gleams  her  eye,  her  fancy  hears 
The  warbled  music  of  the  spheres ; 
She  clasps  her  babe ;  she  feels  her  bosom  glow, 
And  in  a  mother's  love  forgets  a  widow's  woe. 

Go  to  thine  home,  forsaken  fair ! 
Go  to  thy  solitary  home; 
Thou  lovely  pilgrim,  in  despair, 
To  thy  saint's  shrine  no  longer  roam  : 
He  rests  not  here  ;  —  thy  soul's  delight 
Attends  where'er  thy  footsteps  tread  ; 
He  watches  in  the  depth  of  night, 
A  guardian-angel  round  thy  bed; 
And  still  a  father,  fondly  kind, 
Eyes  the  dear  pledge  he  left  behind : 
So  love  may  deem,  and  death  may  prove  it  so : 
—  In  heaven  at  least  there  is  no  widow's  woe; 
Thither,  in  following  him,  with  thy  sweet  infant  go. 
1809. 


IX  MEMORY  OF  E.  B., 

FORMERLY   E.    R. 

Hers  was  a  soul  of  fire  that  burn'd, 

Too  soon  for  us,  its  earthly  tent, 

But  not  too  soon  for  Iter  return'd 

To  Him  from  whom  it  first  was  sent : 

Grave!  keep  the  ashes,  till,  redeem'd  from  thee, 

This  mortal  puts  on  immortality. 


Hers  was  a  frame  so  frail,  so  fine, 

The  soul  was  seen  through  every  part, 

A  light  that  could  not  choose  but  shine 

In  eye  and  utterance,  hand  and  heart; 

That  soul  rests  now,  till  Gor>,  in  His  great  day, 

Remoulds  his  image  from  this  perish'd  clay. 

Body  and  soul,  eternally, 
No  more  conflicting  nor  estranged, 
One  saint  made  perfect  then  shall  be, 
From  glory  into  glory  changed  : 
This  was  her  hope  in  life,  in  death ;  —  may  I 
Live  like  the  righteous,  like  the  righteous  die. 
1833. 


IX  MEMORY  OF  E.  G. 

Soft  be  the  turf  on  thy  dear  breast, 
And  heavenly  calm  thy  lone  retreat ; 
How  long'd  the  weary  frame  for  rest; 
That  rest  is  come,  and  0  how  sweet! 

There  's  nothing  terrible  in  death  ; 
'Tis  but  to  east  our  robes  away, 
And  sleep  at  night,  without  a  breath 
To  break  repose  till  dawn  of  day. 

'T  is  not  a  night  without  a  morn, 
Though  glooms  impregnable  surround; 
Xor  lies  the  buried  corse  forlorn, 
A  hopeless  prisoner  in  the  ground. 

The  darkest  clouds  give  lightnings  birth, 
The  pearl  is  form'd  in  ocean's  bed ; 
The  germ,  unperishing  in  earth, 
Springs  from  its  grave  as  from  the  dead. 

So  shall  the  relics  of  the  just; 
In  weakness  sown,  but  raised  in  power, 
The  precious  seed  shall  leave  the  dust, 
A  glorious  and  immortal  flower. 

But  art  thou  dead? — must  we  deplore 
Joys  gone  for  ever  from  our  lot? 
And  shall  we  see  thy  face  no  more, 
AVhere  all  reminds  us  —  thou  art  not? 


GARDEN  THOUGHTS. 


333 


No, —  live  while  those  who  love  thee  live, 
The  sainted  sister  of  our  heart : 
And  thought  to  thee  a  form  shall  give 
Of  all  thou  wast  and  all  thou  art : 

Of  all  thou  watt,  when  from  thine  eyes 
The  latest  beams  of  kindness  shone; 
Of  all  thou  art,  when  faith  descries 
Thy  spirit  bow*d  before  the  Throne. 


GARDEN  THOUGHTS. 

On  occasion  of  a  Christian  assembly  in  the  grounds  of 
a  gentleman  at  York,  for  the  purpose  of  promoting  mis- 
sions among  the  heathen. 

In  a  garden  —  man  was  placed, 

Meet  abode  for  innocence, 
With  his  Maker's  image  graced; 

—  Sin  crept  in  and  drove  him  thence, 
Through  the  world  a  wretch  undone, 
Seeking  rest,  and  finding  none. 

In  a  garden  —  on  that  night 

When  our  Saviour  was  betray'd, 

With  what  world-redeeming  might 
In  his  agony  he  pray'd  ! 

Till  he  drank  the  vengeance  up, 

And  with  mercy  fill'd  the  cup. 

In  a  garden  —  on  the  cross, 

When  the  spear  his  heart  had  riven, 

And  for  earth's  primeval  loss 

Heaven's  best  ransom  had  been  given, 

—  Jesus  rested  from  his  woes, 

Jesus  from  the  dead  arose. 

Here,  not  Eden's  bowers  are  found, 

Nor  forlorn  Gethsemane, 
Nor  that  calm  sepulchral  ground 

At  the  foot  of  Calvary  ; 
— Yet  this  scene  may  well  recall 
Sweet  remembrances  of  all. 

Emblem  of  the  church  below ! 

Where  the  Spirit  and  the  Word 
Fall  like  dews,  like  breezes  blow, 

And  the  Lord  God's  voice  is  heard, 


Walking  in  the  cool  of  day, 
While  the  world  is  far  away  :  — 

Emblem  of  the  church  above! 

Where,  as  in  their  native  clime, 
Midst  the  garden  of  his  love, 

Rescued  from  the  rage  of  time, 
Saints,  as  trees  of  life,  shall  stand, 
Planted  by  his  own  right  hand! 

Round  the  fair  enclosure  here 

Flames  no  cherub's  threatening  sword, 
Ye  who  enter  feel  no  fear  : 

—  Roof'd  by  Heaven,  with  verdure  floor'd, 
Breathing  balm  from  blossoms  gay, 
This  be  paradise,  to-day. 

Yet  one  moment  meditate 

On  our  parents'  banishment, 
When  from  Eden's  closing  gate, 

Hand  in  hand,  they  weeping  went, 
Spikenard  groves  no  more  to  dress, 
But  a  thorn-set  wilderness. 

Then  remember  Him  who  laid 

Uncreated  splendour  by, 
Lower  than  the  angels  made, 

Fallen  man  to  glorify, 
And  from  death  beyond  the  grave 
Unto  life  immortal  save. 

Think  of  Him  —  }Tour  souls  He  sought, 

Wandering,  never  to  return  ; 
Hath  He  found  you  ?  —At  the  thought 

Your  glad  hearts  within  you  burn; 
Then  you  love  like  His  extend, 
Be  like  Him  the  sinner's  friend. 

O'er  Jerusalem  He  wept, 

Doom'd  to  perish  :  ■ —  can't  you  weep 
O'er  a  world,  by  Satan  kept 

Dreaming  in  delirious  sleep, 
Till  the  twinkle  of  an  eye 
Wakes  them  in  eternity  ? 

Ye,  who  smile  in  rosy  youth, 

Glow  with  manhood,  fade  through  years, 
Send  the  life,  the  light,  the  truth 

To  dead  hearts,  blind  eyes,  deaf  ears, 
And  your  very  pleasures  make 
Charities  for  Jesus'  sake. 


3S4 


FAREWELL  TO  A  MISSIONARY. 


So  shall  Gospel-glory  run 

Round  the  globe  to  every  clime, 
Brighter  than  the  circling  sun, 

Hastening  that  millennial  time 
When  the  earth  shall  be  restored 
As  the  garden  of  the  Lord. 

1829. 


TO  MR.  AND  MRS.  T.,  OF  YORK: 

WITH  THE  FOREGOING  STANZAS. 

Ye  who  own  this  quiet  place, 

Here,  like  Enoch,  walk  with  God  : 

And,  till  summon'd  hence,  through  grace 
Tread  the  path  your  Saviour  trod; 

Then  to  paradise  on  high, 

With  the  wings  of  angels  fly. 


FAREWELL  TO  A  MISSIONARY. 

Home,  kindred,  friends,  and  country, —  these 
Are  things  with  which  we  never  part; 

From  clime  to  clime,  o'er  land  and  seas, 
We  bear  them  with  us  in  our  heart; 

And  yet  'tis  hard  to  feel  resign'd, 

When  they  must  all  be  left  behind. 

But  when  the  pilgrim's  staff  we  take, 
And  follow  Christ  from  shore  to  shore, 

Gladly  for  Him  we  all  forsake, 
Press  on,  and  only  look  before ; 

Though  humbled  nature  mourns  her  loss, 

The  spirit  glories  in  the  cross. 

It  is  no  sin,  like  man,  to  weep, — 
Even  Jesus  wept  o'er  Lazarus  dead; 

Or  yearn  for  home  beyond  the  deep, — 
He  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head; 

The  patriot's  tears  will  He  condemn 

Who  grieved  o'er  lost  Jerusalem  ? 

Take  up  your  cross,  and  say  —  "  Farewell : " 
Go  forth  without  the  camp  to  Him 

Who  left  heaven's  throne  with  men  to  dwell, 
Who  died  his  murderers  to  redeem  : 


Oh  !  tell  his  name  in  every  car  — 

Doubt  not, —  the  dead  themselves  will  hear, — 

Hear,  and  come  forth  to  live  anew ; 

—  Then  while  the  Gentile  courts  they  fill, 
Shall  not  your  Saviour's  words  stand  true? 

Home,  kindred,  friends,  and  country  still, 
In  earth's  last  desert  you  shall  find, 
Yet  lose  not  those  you  left  behind. 


THE  LOT  OF  THE  RIGHTEOUS. 

"We  know  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God." — Rom.  viii.  28. 

Yea, — "all  things  work  together  for  their  good!" 

How  can  this  glorious  truth  be  understood? 

'Tis  like  Jehovah's  throne,  where  marvellous  light 

Hides  in  thick  darkness  from  created  sight : 

The  first-born  seraph,  trembling  while  he  sings, 

Views  its  veil'd  lustre  through  his  shadowing  wings ; 

Or,  if  he  meets,  by  unexpected  grace, 

The  beatific  vision,  face  to  face, 

Shrinks  from  perfection  which  no  eye  can  see, 

Entranced  in  the  abyss  of  Deity. 

Yea, — "  ALL  things  icorJc  together  for  their  good .'" 
How  shall  the  mystery  be  understood  ? 

From  man's  primeval  curse  are  thus  set  free, 
Sin  slain,  death  swallow'd  up  in  victory  ? 
The  body  from  corruption  so  refined, 
'Tis  but  the  immortal  vesture  of  the  mind? 
The  mind  from  folly  so  to  wisdom  won, 
'Tis  a  pure  sunbeam  of  the  eternal  sun  ? 

Ah  !  no,  no;  —  all  that  troubles  life  is  theirs, 
Hard  toil,  sharp  suffering,  slow-consuming  cares; 
To  mourn  and  weep ;  want  raiment,  food,  and  rest, 
Brood  o'er  the  unutter'd  anguish  of  the  breast; 
To  love,  to  hope,  desire,  possess,  in  vain ; 
Wrestle  with  weakness,  weariness,  and  pain, 
Struggle  with  fell  disease  from  breath  to  breath, 
And  every  moment  die  a  moment's  death. 

This  is  their  portion,  this  the  common  lot; 
But  they  have  sorrows  which  the  world  knows  not: 


A  BENEDICTION  FOR  A  BABY. 


3S5 


— Their  conflicts  with  that  world,  its  fair  false  joys, 

Ensnaring  riches,  and  delusive  toys  ; 

Its  love,  its  hatred ;  its  neglect  and  scorn  ; 

With  self-abhorrence  harder  to  be  borne; 

The  pangs  of  conscience,  when  Gon's  holy  law, 

Through  Sinai's  thunders,  strikes  them  dumb  with 

awe; 
Passions  disorder'd,  when  insane  desires 
Blow  the  rank  embers  of  unhallow'd  fires; 
Evils  that  lurk  in  ambush  at  the  heart, 
And  shoot  their  arrows  thence  through  every  part: 
Harsh  roots  of  bitterness;  light  seeds  of  sin, 
Oft  springing  up,  and  stirring  strife  within ; 
Pride,  like  the  serpent,  vaunting  to  deceive, 
As  with  his  subtilty  beguiling  Eve; 
Ambition,  like  the  great  red  dragon,  hurl'd 
Sheer  from  heaven's  battlements  to  this  low  world. 
Boundless  in  rage,  as  limited  in  power, 
Ramping  abroad,  and  roaring  to  devour: 

—  These,  which  blithe  worldlings  laugh  at  and  con- 

temn, 
Are  worse  than  famine,  sword,  and  fire  to  them. 

Nor  these  alone,  for  neither  few  nor  small 
The  trials  rising  from  their  holy  call : 
— The  Spirit's  searching,  proving,  cleansing  flames; 
Duty's  demands,  the  Gospel's  sovereign  claims ; 
Stern  self-denial  counting  all  things  loss 
For  Christ,  and  daily  taking  up  the  cross ; 
The  broken  heart,  or  heart  that  will  not  break, — 
That  aches  not,  or  that  cannot  cease  to  ache  ; 
Doubts  and  misgivings,  lest  when  storms  are  past 
They  make  sad  shipwreck  of  the  faith  at  last : 

—  These,  and  a  thousand  forms  of  fear  and  shame, 
Bosom-temptations,  that  have  not  a  name, 

But  have  a  nature,  felt  through  flesh  and  bone, 
Through  soul  and  spirit, —  felt  by  them  alone  ; 

—  These,  these  the  Christian  pilgrims  sore  distress, 
Like  thorns  and  briars  of  the  wilderness; 

These  keep  them  humble,  keep  them  in  the  path, 
As  those  that  flee  from  everlasting  wrath. 

Yet,  while  their  hearts  and  hopes  are  fix'd  above, 
As  those  who  lean  on  everlasting  love, 
On  faithfulness,  which,  though  heaven's  pillars  bend 
And  earth's  base  fail,  uphold  them  to  the  end;  — 
By  them,  by  them  alone,  'tis  understood 
How  all  things  work  together  for  their  good. 
Would'st  thou  too  understand  ?  —  behold  I  show 
The  perfect  way, —  Love  God,  and  thou  shalt  know. 
25 


A  BENEDICTION  FOR  A  BABY. 


What  blessing  shall  I  ask  for  thee, 
In  the  sweet  dawn  of  infancy  ? 

—  That,  which  our  Saviour,  at  his  birth, 
Brought  down  with  Him  from  heaven  to  earth. 

What  next,  in  childhood's  April  years, 
Of  sunbeam  smiles  and  rainbow  tears  ? 

—  That,  which  in  Him  all  eyes  might  trace, 
To  grow  in  wisdom  and  in  grace. 

What  in  the  wayward  path  of  youth, 
Where  falsehood  walks  abroad  as  truth  ? 

—  By  that  good  Spirit  to  be  led 
Which  John  saw  resting  on  His  head. 

What,  in  temptation's  wilderness, 
When  wants  assail,  and  fears  oppress  ? 

—  To  wield  like  Him  the  Scripture-sword, 
And  vanquish  Satan  by  "the  word." 

What,  in  the  labour,  pain,  and  strife, 
Combats  and  cares,  of  daily  life  ? 

—  In  His  cross-bearing  steps  to  tread 
Who  had  not  where  to  lay  his  head. 

What,  in  the  agony  of  heart, 
When  foes  rush  in,  and  friends  depart? 

—  To  pray  like  Him,  the  Holy  One, 

"  Father  !  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done." 

What,  in  the  bitterness  of  death, 
When  the  last  sigh  cuts  the  last  breath? 

—  Like  Him  your  spirit  to  commend, 
And  up  to  paradise  ascend. 

What  in  the  grave,  and  in  that  hour 
When  even  the  grave  shall  lose  its  power? 

—  Like  Him,  your  rest  awhile  to  take; 
Then  at  the  trumpet's  sound  awake, 
Him  as  He  is  in  heaven  to  see, 

And  as  He  is,  yourself  to  be. 

1831. 


3S6 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  MOON. 


"OCCUPY  TILL  I  COME." 

Luke,  xix.  IS. 

ON    THE    DEATH    OF 

THE  LATE  JOSEPH  BUTTERWORTH,  ESQ. 

AN  EXEMPLARY   CHRISTIAN',  PATRIOT.  AND 
PHILANTHROPIST. 

"  He  was  a  burning  and  a  shining  light :  " 
— And  is  he  now  eclipsed  in  hopeless  night  ? 
No;  faith  beholds  him  near  the  sapphire  throne, 
Shining  more  bright  than  e'er  on  earth  he  shone  ; 
While,  where  created  splendour  all  looks  dim, 
Heaven's  host  are  glorifying  God  in  him. 

If  faith's  enraptured  vision  now  be  true, 
And  things  invisible  stand  forth  to  view, 
Though  eye  to  eye  the'  embodied  soul  can  see, 
Self-lost  amidst  unclouded  Deity, 
He  chooses,  rather  than  a  seraph's  seat, 
The  lowest  place  at  his  Redeemer's  feet; 
And,  with  the' eternal  weight  of  glory  prest, 
Turns,  even  in  paradise,  to  Christ  for  rest. 

Come  we  who  once  beheld  his  noontide  blaze. 
And  hid  before  him  our  diminish'd  ra3-s  ; 
Since  his  translation  to  a  higher  sphere, 
We  may,  we  must,  by  our  own  light  appear: 
When  sun  and  moon  their  greater  beams  resign, 
•The  stars  come  out;  they  cannot  choose  but  shine : 
With  force  like  his  all  eyes  we  cannot  strike, 
We  may  not  equal  him,  but  may  be  like  : 
Nor  let  the  meanest  think  his  lamp  too  dim, 
In  a  dark  world  the  Lord  hath  need  of  him  ; 
By  feeble  instruments  in  providence, 
God  is  well  pleased  his  bounties  to  dispense : 
In  his  economy  of  grace  the  same, — 
The  weakest  are  almighty  in  his  name. 

What   though  the  great,  the  good,  the  glorious 
fall, 
He  reigns  whose  kingdom  ruleth  over  all. 
— Talk  not  of  talents  ;  —  what  hast  thou  to  do  ? 
Thy  duty,  be  thy  portion  Jive  or  two; 
Talk  not  of  talents  ;  —  is  thy  duty  done  ? 
Thou  haclst  sufficient,  were  they  ten  or  one. 
Lord,  what  my  talents  are  I  cannot  tell, 
Till  thou  shaltgive  me  grace  to  use  them  well: 
That  grace  impart,  the  bliss  will  then  be  mine, 
But  all  the  power  and  all  the  glory  Thine. 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  THE  MOON. 

A  thought  at  Exeter,  during  the  (.'rent  Eclipse  of  the  Sun, 
May  16, 1S36. 

The  evening  star  peep'd  forth  at  noon, 
To  learn  what  ail' d  the  sun,  her  sire, 

When,  lo  !  the  intervening  moon 

Plunged  her  black  shadow  through  his  fire, 

Of  ray  by  ray  his  orb  bereft, 

Till  but  one  slender  curve  was  left, 
And  that  seem'd  trembling  to  expire. 

The  sickening  atmosphere  grew  dim, 
A  faint  chill  breeze  crept  over  all ; 

As  in  a  swoon,  when  objects  swim 
Away  from  sight, —  a  thickening  pall 

Of  horror,  boding  worse  to  come, 

That  struck  both  field  and  city  dumb, 
O'er  man  and  brute  was  felt  to  fall. 

"Avaunt,  insatiate  fiend!"  I  cry,. — 
"Like  vampire  stealing  from  its  grave 

To  drain  some  sleeper's  life-springs  dry, 
Back  to  thine  interlunar  cave; 

Ere  the  last  glimpse  of  fountain-light, 

Absorpt  by  thee,  bring  on  a  night 

From  which  nor  moon  nor  morn  can  save." 

While  yet  I  spake,  that  single  beam 
(Bent  like  Apollo's  bow  half-strung) 

Broaden'd  and  brighten'd  : — gleam  o'er  gleam, 
Splendours  that  out  of  darkness  sprung, 

The  sun's  unveiling  disk  o'erfiow'd, 

Till  forth  in  all  his  strength  he  rode, 
For  ever  beautiful  and  young. 

Reviving  Nature  own'd  his  power ; 

And  joy  and  mirth,  with  light  and  heat, 
Music  and  fragrance,  hail'd  the  hour 

When  his  deliverance  was  complete  : 
Aloft  again  the  swallow  flew, 
The  cock  at  second  day-break  crew; 

When  suddenly  a  voice  most  sweet, — 

A  voice  as  from  the  ethereal  sphere, 

Of  one  unseen  yet  passing  by, 
Came  with  such  rapture  on  mine  ear, 

My  soul  sprang  up  into  ray  eye, 


But  nought  around  could  I  behold, 
No  "mortal  mixture  of  earth's  mould" 
Breathed  that  enchanting  harmony. 

"  How  have  I  wrong' d  thee,  angry  bard 
What  evil  to  your  world  have  done  ? 

That  I,  the  moon,  should  be  debarr'd 
From  free  communion  with  the  sun  ? 

If  while  I  turn'd  on  him  my  face, 

Yours  was  o'ercast  a  little  space, 
Already  are  amends  begun. 

"  The  lustre  I  have  gather'd  now, 

Not  to  myself  I  will  confine  ; 
Night  after  night,  my  crescent  brow, 

My  full  and  waning  globe  shall  shine 
On  yours, —  till  every  spark  is  spent, 
Which  for  us  both  to  rue  was  lent; 

—  Thus  I  fulfil  the  law  divine. 

"A  nobler  sun  on  thee  hath  shone, 
On  thee  bestow'd  benigner  light; 

Walk  in  that  light,  but  not  alone, 
Like  me  to  darkling  eyes  give  sight: 

This  is  the  way  God's  gifts  to  use, 

First  to  enjoy  them,  then  diffuse; 

—  Learn  from  the  moon  that  lesson  right.1 


TIIE  PURPLE  BEECH. 

On  planting  a  tree  at  the  Mount,  near  Sheffield:  in  presence 

of  the  resident  families; 

Nov.  3. 1849. 

Live  long,  live  well,  fair  Beechen  Tree! 
And  oh  !  that  I  could  live  like  thee, — 
Never  to  lose  one  moment  more, 
As  I  have  millions  lost  before  ; 
Never  misspend  another  lent, 
As  millions  past  have  been  misspent; 
Each,  in  our  place,  would  then  fulfil 
Our  Maker's  and  our  Master's  will. 

Moments  to  ages  train  a  tree; 
To  man  they  bring  Eternity : 
Here,  as  the  tree  falls,  so  it  lies, 
But  men  from  death  to  judgment  rise  ; 
—  To  meet  thy  Gon,  thy  Saviour,  there, 
My  soul,  my  soul !  prepare,  prepare  ! 


FRANKLIN, 

THE    PRINTER,    PHILOSOPHER,    AND    PATRIOT. 

Written  hy  desire  of  the  Committee  appointed  to  prepare 
for  a  National  Celebration  of  the  hundred  and  forty-first 
anniversary  of  Benjamin  Franklin's  birthday,  at  Ro- 
chester. New  York,  on  January  18,  1S47. 

He  call'd  down  lightning  from  the  sky, 

And,  ere  the  thunder  could  reply, 

The  flash,  like  inspiration,  came, 

Heaven's  own  pure  fire  through  all  his  frame  : 

Not  the  dread  bolt,  whose  sudden  stroke 

Prostrates  the  tower,  or  rends  the  oak;  — 

A  touch,  a  pulse,  a  spark,  reveal'd 

A  secret  from  all  ages  seal'd ; 

One  trembling  moment,  in  its  flight, 

Drew  such  a  train  of  wondrous  light, 

That  his  rapt  spirit  seem'd  to  pierce 

The  mystery  of  the  universe, 

And  scan  the  power  which,  like  a  soul, — 

Informs,  expands,  and  rules  the  whole, 

God's  hidden  minister,  whose  will 

All  Nature's  elements  fulfil. 

Thus  standing  when  the  deed  was  done, 
That  victory  of  Science  won, 
He  planted,  where  his  foot  had  trod, 
His  conquering  spear,  the  Electric  Rod  ! 
A  trophy  simple  and  sublime, 
A  monument  defying  Time. 

That  was  to  him  a  glorious  day, 
Whose  fame  can  never  pass  away  ; 
Philosophy  had  triumph'd  there  : 
A  nobler  wreath  he  lived  to  share, 
He  lived  a  brighter  day  to  see, — 
His  country  by  the  PRESS  made  free. 


THE  PRESS. 

"  The  Press  ! — What  is  the  Press  ? "  I  cried  : 
When  thus  a  wondrous  voice  replied; 
Most  like  the  multitude  of  seas, 
Speaking  at  once  all  languages  : 

"In  me  all  human  knowledge  dwells; 
The  Oracle  of  Oracles, 


388 


THE  PRESS. 


Past,  present,  future,  I  reveal, 
Or  in  oblivion's  silence  seal ; 
What  I  preserve  can  perish  never, 
What  I  forego  is  lost  for  ever. 

"I  speak  all  dialects;  by  me 
The  deaf  may  hear,  the  blind  may  see, 
The  dumb  converse,  the  dead  of  old 
Communion  with  the  living  hold; 
All  lands  are  one  beneath  my  rule, 
All  nations  learners  in  my  school; 
Men  of  all  ages,  everywhere, 
Become  contemporaries  there. 

"What  is  the  Press?  —  'Tis  what  the  tongue 
Was  to  the  world  when  Time  was  young; 
When,  by  tradition,  sire  to  son 
Convey'd  whate'er  was  known  or  done, — 
But  fact  and  fiction  so  were  mix'd. 
Their  boundaries  never  could  be  fix'd. 

"  What  is  the  Press  ?— 'Tis  that  which  taught, 
By  hieroglyphic,  forms  of  thought, 
Lore,  from  the  vulgar  proudly  hid 
Like  treasure  in  a  pyramid  ; 
For  knowledge  then  was  mystery, 
A  captive  under  lock  and  key, 
By  priests  and  princes  held  in  thrall, 
Of  little  use,  or  none  at  all, 
Till  the  redoubted  ALPHABET 
Free  their  own  Great  Deliverer  set, 
At  whose  command,  by  simple  spells, 
They  work  their  mental  miracles. 

"  What  is  the  Press  ?  —  'Tis  what  the  pen 
Through  thrice  ten  centuries  was  to  men, 
When  sibyl-leaves  lent  wings  to  words, 
Or,  caged  in  books,  they  sang  like  birds. 
But  slow  the  quill,  and  frail  the  page ; 
To  write  twelve  folios  asked  an  age, 
And  a  pet-babe  in  sport  might  spoil 
The  fruits  of  twenty  authors'  toil; 
A  power  was  wanting  to  insure 
Life  to  works  worthy  to  endure ; 
A  power  the  race  to  multiply 
Of  intellectual  polypi  : 
—  It  came,  all  hardships  to  redress, 
And  Truth  and  Virtue  hail'd  the  PRESS. 

"What  am  I,  then?  —  I  am  a  power 
Tears  cannot  waste,  nor  flames  devour, 


Nor  waters  drown,  nor  tyrants  bind ; 
I  am  the  mirror  of  man's  mind, 
In  whose  serene  impassive  face 
What  cannot  die  on  earth  you  trace; 
Not  phantom  shapes,  that  come  and  fly, 
But,  like  the  concave  of  the  sky, 
In  which  the  stars  by  night  and  day, 
Seen  or  unseen,  hold  on  their  way. 

"  Then  think  me  not  that  lifeless  Frame 
Which  bears  my  honourable  name: 
Nor  dwell  I  in  the  arm,  whose  swing 
Intelligence  from  blocks  can  wring; 
Nor  in  the  hand,  whose  fingers  fine 
The  cunning  characters  combine; 
Nor  even  the  cogitating  brain, 
Whose  cells  the  germs  of  thought  contain, 
Which  that  quick  hand  with  letters  sows, 
Like  dibbled  wheat,  in  lineal  rows, 
And  that  strong  arm,  like  autumn  sheaves, 
Reaps  and  binds  up  in  gather'd  leaves, 
The  harvest-home  of  learned  toil, 
From  that  dead  Frame's  well-cultured  soil. 

"  I  am  not  one,  nor  all,  of  these; 
They  are  my  Types  and  Images, 
The  implements  with  which  I  work; 
Iu  them  no  secret  virtues  lurk: 
—  I  am  an  omnipresent  Soul; 
I  live  and  move  throughout  the  whole, 
And  thence,  with  freedom  unconfined 
And  universal  as  the  wind, 
Whose  source  and  issues  are  unknown, 
Felt  in  its  airy  flight  alone, 
All  life  supplying  with  its  breath, 
And  where  it  fails  involving  death, 
I  quicken  minds  from  Nature's  sloth, 
Fashion  their  forms,  sustain  their  growth ; 
And  when  my  influence  flags  or  flies, 
Matter  may  live,  but  spirit  dies. 

••  Myself  withdrawn  from  mortal  sight, 
I  am  invisible  as  light, — 
Light,  which,  revealing  all  beside, 
Itself  within  itself  can  hide  : 
The  things  of  darkness  I  make  bare, 
And,  nowhere  seen,  am  everywhere. 
All  that  philosophers  have  sought, 
Science  discover'd,  genius  wrought; 


THE  GRASSHOPPER. 


3S9 


All  that  reflective  memory  stores, 
Or  rich  imagination  pours  ; 
All  that  the  wit  of  man  conceives, 
All  that  he  wishes,  hopes,  believes, 
All  that  he  loves,  or  fears,  or  hates, 
All  that  to  heaven  and  earth  relates  ; 
—  These  are  the  lessons  that  I  teach 
In  speaking  silence,  silent  speech. 

"Ah  !  who  like  me  can  bless  or  curse? 
What  can  be  better,  what  be  worse, 
Than  language  framed  for  Paradise, 
Or  sold  to  infamy  and  vice? 
■ — Blest  be  the  man  by  whom  I  bless, 
But  curst  be  he  who  wrongs  the  Press  ! 
The  reprobate,  in  prose  or  song, 
Who  wields  the  glorious  power  for  wrong, 
— Wrong  to  outlast  his  laurell'd  tomb, 
And  taint  the  earth  till  'crack-of-doom.' " 
May,  1842. 


THE    GRASSHOPPER. 

Scent  —  The  Derbyshire  moors. 

Mine  is  but  a  summer  song, 
Merry  as  the  day  is  long; 
Yet,  proud  man  !  whoe'er  thou  be, 
Scorn  not  thou  my  minstrelsy, 
Though  monotonous  my  note, 
Can  the  nightingale's  clear  throat, 
With  its  swells,  and  falls,  and  beats, 
Through  a  wilderness  of  sweets, 
Pour,  in  strains  that  never  cloy, 
More  exuberance  of  joy 
Than  my  tinkling  tones  reveal 
What  a  grasshopper  can  feel, 
What  a  grasshopper  express 
Of  an  insect's  happiness, 

1  "  The  Grasshopper  Lark  (Alauda  trivialis)  began  his 
sibilous  note  in  my  fields  last  Saturday.  Nothing  cm  lie 
more  amusing  than  the  whisper  of  this  little  bird,  which 
seems  to  be  close  by.  though  a  hundred  yards  distant; 
and  when  close  at  our  ear  is  scarce  any  louder  than  when 
a  great  way  off.  Had  I  not  been  a  little  acquainted  with 
insects,  and  known  that  the  grasshopper  kind  is  not  yet 
hatched.  I  should  hardly  have  believed  hut  that  it  had  been 
a  locusta  whispering  in  the  bushes.  The  country  people 
laugh  when  you  tell  them  that  it  is  the  note  of  a  bird.  It 
24 


Running  in,  and  running  o'er, — 

Could  a  giant's  heart  hold  more? 

Or  all  human  language  tell 

More  than  my  own  syllable  ? 

How  my  pleasant  moments  pass 

In  this  paradise  of  grass, 

Where  the  heather  and  the  broom 

Flower,  and  breathe  their  faint  perfume; 

And  the  gorse,  in  green  and  gold, 

All  delightful  to  behold, 

In  its  covert,  dense  and  dark, 

Hides  my  play-mate,  name-sake,  lark,1 

Which,  when  her  low  note  is  heard, 

Seems  a  spirit,  not  a  bird  ; 

So  bewildering,  far  and  near, 

Right  and  left,  it  haunts  the  ear, 

While  the  listener's  eye  in  vain 

Hunts  the  sound  through  copse  and  plain. 

Here  the  stone-chat  on  her  nest, 

Lulls  her  little  ones  to  rest; 

There  the  linnet,  for  her  brood, 

Plies  her  wings  in  quest  of  food; 

While  the  goldfinch  plucks  the  down 

From  the  regal  thistle's  crown  ; 

And  the  cuckoo's  double  cry 

Fills  the  hollow  of  the  sky, 

Answer' d  by  the  raven's  croak 

From  the  lightning-smitten  oak. 

Where  the  fairy-tribes  of  moss 
Ankle-deep  the  marsh  emboss, 
With  their  innocent  decoys 
Lapwings  lure  marauding  boys  : 
And  the  rogues,  through  bog  and  mire, 
Neither  dam  nor  nest  accpuire, 
Either  prize  which  they  pursue 
Vanishing  when  most  in  view  : 
As,  along  the  self-same  place, 
Jack-o-lantern's  light  they  chase, 
Till  the  meretricious  spark 
Leaves  them  floundering  in  the  dark, 

is  the  most  artful  creature,  skulking  in  the  thickest  part 
of  a  bush,  and  will  sing  at  a  yard  distance,  provided  it  be 
concealed.  I  was  obliged  to  get  a  person  to  go  on  the  other 
side  of  the  hedge  which  it  haunted,  and  then  it  would  run 
creeping  like  a  mouse  before  us  for  a  hundred  yards  to- 
gether, through  the  bottom  of  the  thorns,  yet  it  would  not 
come  out  into  fair  sight;  but,  in  a  morning  early,  and 
when  undisturbed,  it  sings  on  the  top  of  a  twig,  gaping 
and  shivering  with  its  wings." — (Whites  Natural  History 
nf  Selborm.     Letter  XVI.     April  18, 1768.) 


390 


THE  GRASSHOPPER. 


Equally  by  night  and  day 
With  false  signals  led  astray. 

Here,  on  berry-bearing  shoots, 
Autumn  trains  delicious  fruits, 
In  whose  shade  the  moor-fowl  breed, 
And  upon  the  vintage  feed; 
From  low  erags  and  broken  walls, 
To  his  mate  the  black-cock  calls, 
While  their  new-fledged  convoys  run, 
Unaware  of  dog  and  gun. 

Feathery  ferns,  like  palm  trees  spread 
In  a  forest  o'er  my  head  ; 
Daisies,  thyme,  white-clover,  meet 
On  the  greensward  at  my  feet; 
On  the  rocks  the  wild  briar  rose 
In  its  single  beauty  blows, 
With  its  deepest  crimson  glows; 
Speedwell  tinged  with  heavenly  blue, 
Eyebright  pearl'd  with  morning  dew, 
Maiden  pansy  freak'd  with  jet, 
And  her  sister  violet, 
Grace  the  turf,  round  whose  small  blades 
Glow-worms  light  the  evening  shades. 

When  yon  glen  of  shatter'd  stones 
Seems  a  valley  of  dry  bones, 
Relics  of  an  army  slain, 
Bleaching  on  their  battle-plain, 
Fox-gloves  in  superb  array, 
Hank  and  file,  their  hosts  display; 
While  their  banner'd  spears  betray 
Hidden  wealth  beneath  the  soil, 
Worthy  of  the  ploughman's  toil, 
Which  already,  far  and  wide, 
Presses  on  the  desert's  side, 
Till  the  pathless  sheep-track  yields 
Cottage-plots  and  harvest-fields. 

Every  element  is  rife 
With  intensity  of  life  ; 
Earth  is  throng'd  with  creeping  things, 
All  the  air  alive  with  wings, 
Gnats,  like  motes,  in  dazzling  streams, 
Gaily  people  the  sunbeams, 
Which  the  swallows,  in  their  play, 
Sweep  by  hecatombs  away; 
Moths  and  butterflies,  that  show 
All  the  colours  of  heaven's  bow, 
Flaunt  and  flutter  to  and  fro; 


O'er  the  pool's  pellucid  brim, 
Glossy  beetles  wheel  and  skim, 
While  the  water-spider's  trace 
Scarcely  dimples  its  smooth  face. 
There,  with  glittering  armour  drest, 
Plated  scales,  and  helmet-crest, 
Dragon-flies,  in  locust  forms, 
Sport  as  harmlessly  as  worms  : 
Bees,  to  store  their  waxen  cells, 
Rifle  honey-buds  and  bells, 
Provident  of  winter's  need, 
Winter,  which  /  never  heed: 
Ants  their  commonwealths  arrange, 
Molehills  into  mountains  change, 
And  build  cities  in  their  wombs, 
Palaces  at  once  and  tombs, 
Where,  as  in  the  face  of  day, 
Generations  pass  away. 

But,  could  vulgar  optics  scan, 
Hid  from  uninquiring  man, 
Nature's  world  invisible, 
Wonders  which  no  tongue  can  tell, 
(Microscopic  beings,  more 
Than  the  sands  on  ocean's  shore, 
Suddenly  from  darkness  brought, 
Like  the  universe  from  nought,) 
Seeing  would  extinguish  sight, 
Blinded  by  excess  of  light ! 

Now,  of  things  that  creep  or  fly, 
Which  is  happier  than  I! 
Deem  not,  then,  my  time  misspent, 
Idle  and  yet  innocent, 
Though  I  dance  and  sing  and  play 
Through  my  summer-holyday ; 
All  my  blessings  I  enjoy, 
All  my  faculties  employ; 
Few  and  feeble  these  may  be, 
Yet  the  eye  of  Deity 
Condescends  to  look  on  me, 
While  by  instinct  I  fulfil 
All  his  manifested  will. 
—  If  an  insect's  life  be  such, 
Reader,  canst  Tnou  say  as  much  ? 

June,  1S46. 


EMBLEMS. 

Ax  evening  cloud,  in  brief  suspense, 

Was  hither  driven  and  thither; 
It  came  I  saw  not  whence, 

It  went,  I  know  not  whither: 
I  watch'd  it  changing,  in  the  wind, 

Size,  semblance,  form,  and  hue, 
Lessening  and  fading,  till  behind 

It  left  no  speck  on  heaven's  pure  blue. 

Amidst  the  marshall'd  host  of  night 
Shone  a  new  star  supremely  bright; 
M'ith  marvelling  eye,  well  pleased  to  err, 

I  hail'd  that  prodigy;  —  anon, 
It  fell,  —  it  fell  like  Lucifer, 

A  flash,— a  blaze,— a  train,— 'twas  gone; 
And  then  I  sought  in  vain  its  place, 
Throughout  the  infinite  of  space. 

Dew-drops,  at  day-spring,  deck'd  a  line 

Of  gossamer  so  frail,  so  fine, 
A  gnat's  wing  shook  it:  — round  and  clear, 

As  if  by  fairy-fingers  strung, 
Like  orient  pearls  at  beauty's  ear, 

Iu  trembling  brilliancy  they  hung 
Upon  a  rosy  briar,  whose  bloom 
Shed  nectar  round  them,  and  perfume. 

Ere  long  exhaled  in  limpid  air, 

Some  mingled  with  the  breath  of  morn, 

While  some  slid  singly  here  and  there, 

Like  tears  by  their  own  weight  down  borne : 

At  length  the  film  itself  collapsed,  and  where 
The  pageant  glitter'd,  lo !  a  naked  thorn. 

What  are  the  living  ?  —  hark  !  a  sound 

From  grave  and  cradle  crying, 
By  earth  and  ocean  echoed  round,— 

"  The  living  are  the  dying!" 

From  infancy  to  utmost  age, 

What  is  man's  scene  of  pilgrimage  ? 

The  passage  to  death's  portal ! 
The  moment  we  begin  to  be, 
We  enter  on  the  agony, — 

The  dead  are  the  immortal  ; 
They  live  not  on  expiring  breath, 
They  only  are  exempt  from  death. 


Cloud-atoms,  sparkles  of  a  falling  star, 

Dew-drops  on  gossamer,  all  are  : 

What  can  the  state  beyond  us  be  ? 

Life  ?— Death  ?— Ah  !  no,  a  greater  mystery  ; 

What  thought  hath  not  conceived,  ear  heard,  eye 
seen  : 
Perfect  existence  from  a  point  begun; 

Part  of  what  God's  eternity  hath  been, — 
Whole  immortality  belongs  to  none, 
But  Him,  the  First,  the  Last,  the  Only  One. 


CORONATION   ODE 

FOR 

QUEEN  VICTORIA. 

The  sceptre  in  a  maiden-hand, 

The  reign  of  beauty  and  of  youth, 

Should  wake  to  gladness  all  the  land, 

Where  love  is  loyalty  and  truth : 

Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Hearts  and  hands  we  offer  thee. 

Not  by  the  tyrant  law  of  might, 

But  by  the  grace  of  God  we  own, 

And  by  the  people's  voice,  thy  right 

To  sit  upon  thy  fathers'  throne  : 

Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Heaven  defend  and  prosper  thee. 

Thee,  isles  and  continents  obey  ;       f 

Kindreds  and  nations  nigh  and  far 

Behold  the  bound-marks  of  thy  sway, 

—  The  morning  and  the  evening  star  : 

Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 

Millions  rest  their  hopes  on  thee. 

No  slave  within  thine  empire  breathe! 

Before  thy  steps  oppression  fly  ! 
The  lamb  and  lion  play  beneath 
The  meek  dominion  of  thine  eye! 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
Bonds  and  shackles  yield  to  thee. 

Still  spreading  influence  more  benign, 

Light  to  thy  realms  of  darkness  send, 
Till  none  shall  name  a  God  but  thine, 
None  at  an  idol-altar  bend  : 

Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 

Till  all  tongues  shall  pray  for  thee. 


392 


A  BRIDAL  EEXISOX.— THE  BLACKBIRD. 


At  home,  abroad,  by  sea,  on  shore, 

Blessings  to  thee  and  thine  increase  ; 
The  sword  and  cannon  rage  no  more, 

The  whole  world  hail  thee  Queen  of  Peace: 
Rule,  Victoria,  rule  the  free, 
And  the'  Almighty  rule  o'er  thee  ! 
1838. 


WESTMINSTER  ABBEY, 

On  the  Twexty-eighth  of  June,  1838. 

to  the  queen'. 

The  orb  and  sceptre  in  thy  hands  they  placed, 

On  thine  anointed  head  a  crown  of  gold  ; 
A  purple  robe  thy  virgin  form  embraced ; 

Enthroned  thou  wert,  all  glorious  to  behold; 

Before  thee  lay  the  Book  of  God  unroll'd  ; 
Thy    tongue    pronounced,    thy   pen    the    covenant 
traced, 

Which  men  and  angels  witness'd ; —  young  and 
old, 
Peers,  princes,  statesmen,  birth  and  beauty,  graced 
That  scene  of  tombs  and  trophies.— 

/ 

All  is  fled ; 

Like  life  itself,  the  living  pass'd  away, 
And  none  that  met  remain'd  there  but  the  dead! 
—  Thence  to  thy  closet  didst  thou  not  retreat, 

In  secret  to  thy  Heavenly  Father  pray, 
And  east  thyself  and  kingdom  at  his  feet? 


A  BRIDAL  BEXISOX. 

ADDRESSED    TO   MY    FRIENDS,    MR.  AND    MRS.  B. 

Ocean  and  land  the  globe  divide, 
Summer  and  winter  share  the  year, 

Darkness  and  light  walk  side  by  side, 
And  earth  and  heaven  are  always  near. 

Though  each  be  good  and  fair  alone, 
And  glorious,  in  its  time  and  place, 

In  all,  when  fitly  pair'd,  is  shown 

More  of  their  Maker's  power  and  grace. 


Then  may  the  union  of  young  hearts, 

So  early  and  so  well  begun, 
Like  sea  and  shore,  in  all  their  parts, 

Appear  as  twain,  and  be  as  one. 

Be  it  like  summer;  may  they  find 

Bliss,  beauty,  hope,  where'er  they  roam ; 

Be  it  like  winter,  when  confined, 
Peace,  comfort,  happiness  at  home. 

Like  day  and  night,  —  sweet  interchange 
Of  care,  enjoyment,  action,  rest; 

Absence  nor  coldness  e'er  estrange 
Hearts  by  unfailing  love  possest. 

Like  earth's  horizon,  be  their  scene 
Of  life  a  rich  and  various  ground, 

And,  whether  lowering  or  serene, 
Heaven  all  above  it  and  around. 

When  land  and  ocean,  day  and  night, 
When  time  and  nature  cease  to  be; 

Let  their  inheritance  be  light, 
Their  union  an  eternity. 
1820. 


THE  BLACKBIRD. 

Those  who  are  apt  to  awake  early  on  spring  mornings,  iD 
rural  neighbourhoods,  must  often  have  been  charmed 
with  the  solitary  song  of  the  Blackbird,  when  all  beside 
is  still,  and  the  Lark  himself  is  yet  on  the  ground.  At 
evening,  too.  his  broad  ami  homely  strain,  different  from 
that  of  every  other,  anil  chiming  in  at  intervals  with 
the  universal  chorus  of  wild  throats,  is  known  from  in- 
fancy by  all  who  have  been  accustomed  to  walk  abroad 
in  the  hour  of  twilight.  The  yellow  bill  and  glossy 
plumage  of  the  same  conspicuous  bird,  when  he  flits 
from  hedge  to  tree,  or  across  a  meadow,  arc  equally  fami- 
liar to  the  eye  of  such;  nor  less  to  their  ear  is  the 
chuckling  note  with  which  he  holts  out  of  a  bush  before 
the  startled  passenger,  who  has  unconsciously  disturbed 
him  from  his  perch. 


Golden  bill!  Golden  bill! 

Lo  !  the  peep  of  day  ; 
All  the  air  is  cool  and  still, 
From  the  elm-tree  on  the  hill, 

Chant  away  : 
While  the  moon  drops  down  the  west, 
Like  thy  mate  upon  her  nest, 


THE  MYRTLE.  — DALE  ABBEY. 


393 


And  the  stars  before  the  sun 
Melt  like  snow-flakes,  one  by  one  ; 
Let  thy  loud  and  welcome  lay 
Pour  along 
Few  notes  but  strong. 


Jet-bright  wing!  jet-bright  wing  ! 

Flit  across  the  sunset  glade  ; 
Lying  there  in  wait  to  sing  — 
Listen  with  thy  head  awry, 
Keeping  time  with  twinkling  eye, 

While,  from  all  the  woodland  shade, 
Birds  of  every  plume  and  note 
Strain  the  throat, 
Till  both  hill  and  valley  ring, 
And  the  warbled  minstrelsy, 
Ebbing,  flowing,  like  the  sea, 
Claims  brief  interludes  from  thee  : 
Then,  with  simple  swell  and  fall, 
Breaking  beautiful  through  all, 
Let  thy  Pan-like  pipe  repeat 
Few  notes  but  sweet. 

Askern,  near  Doncaster,  1S35. 


THE  MYRTLE. 

Dark-green  and  gemm'd  with  flowers  of  snow, 
With  close  uncrowded  branches  spread, 

Not  proudly  high,  nor  meanly  low, 
A  graceful  myrtle  rear'd  its  head. 

Its  mantle  of  unwithering  leaf 
Seem'd  in  my  contemplative  mood, 

Like  silent  joy,  or  patient  grief, 
The  symbol  of  pure  gratitude. 

Still  life,  methought,  is  thine,  fair  tree  ! 

—  Then  pluck'd  a  sprig,  and,  while  I  mused, 
With  idle  bands,  unconsciously, 

The  delicate  small  foliage  bruised. 

Odours,  at  my  rude  touch  set  free, 
Escaped  from  all  their  secret  cells; 

Quick  life,  I  cried,  is  thine,  fair  tree! 
In  thee  a  soul  of  fragrance  dwells :  — 


Which  outrage,  wrongs,  nor  wounds  destroy, 
But  wake  its  sweetness  from  repose; 

Ah  !  could  I  thus  Heaven's  gifts  employ, 
Worth  seen,  worth  hidden,  thus  disclose : 

In  health,  with  unpretending  grace, 

In  wealth,  with  meekness  and  with  fear, 

Through  every  season  wear  one  face, 
And  be  in  truth  what  I  appear. 

Then,  should  affliction's  chastening  rod 
Bruise  my  frail  frame,  or  break  my  heart, 

Life,  a  sweet  sacrifice  to  God, 

Out-breathed  like  incense  would  depart. 

The  Captain  of  Salvation  thus, 

When  like  a  lamb  to  slaughter  led, 

Was  by  the  Father's  will,  for  us, 
Himself  through  suffering  purified. 
1S37. 


DALE  ABBEY. 

A  solitary  arch  in  the  middle  of  an  open  meadow,  and  a 
small  oratory  more  ancient  than  the  monastery  itself, 
now  the  chapel  of  ease  for  the  hamlet,  are  alone  con- 
spicuous of  all  the  magnificent  structures  which  once 
occupied  this  ground.  The  site  is  about  five  miles  south- 
east from  Derby. 


TnE  glory  hath  departed  from  thee,  Dale  ! 

Thy  gorgeous  pageant  of  monastic  pride, 

■ — A  power  that  onee  the  power  of  kings  defied, 
Which  truth  and  reason  might  in  vain  assail, 
In  mock  humility  usurp'd  this  vale, 

And  lorded  o'er  the  region,  far  and  wide; 

Darkness  to  light,  evil  to  good  allied, 
Had  wrought  a  charm,  which  made  all  hearts   to 
quail. 

What  gave  that  power  dominion  on  this  ground, 
Age  after  age?  —  the  Word  of  God  was  bound!  — 

At  length  the  mighty  captive  burst  from  thrall, 
O'erturn'd  the  spiritual  bastile  in  its  march, 
And  left  of  ancient  grandeur  this  sole  arch, 

Whose  stones  cry  out,  —  "  Thus  Babylon  herself 
shall  fall." 


394 


THE  WILD  PINK  ON  MALMESBURY  ABEEY. 


More  beautiful  in  ruin  than  in  prime, 

Methinks  this  frail  yet  firm  memorial  stand?, 
The  work  of  heads  laid  low,  and  buried  hands : 

—  Now  slowly  mouldering  to  the  touch  of  time, 

It  looks  abroad,  unconsciously  sublime, 

Where  sky  above  and  earth  beneath  expands : 
— And  yet  a  nobler  relic  still  demands 

The  grateful  homage  of  a  passing  rhyme. 

Beneath  the  cliff  yon  humble  roof  behold  ! 
Poor  as  our  Saviour's  birthplace ;  yet  a  fold, 

Where  the  good  shepherd,  in  this  quiet  vale, 
Gathers  his  flock,  and  feeds  them,  as  of  old, 

With  bread  from  heaven  : — I  change  my  note ; — 

all  hail  ! 
The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee,  Dale  ! ' 
1830. 


THE  WILD  PINK 

OX  THE  WALL  OF  MALMESBURY  ABBEY. 

(Dianth  us  Gfu  irqphyUus.) 

On  seeing  a  solitary  specimen  near  the  Great  Archway,  and 
being  tokl  that  the  plant  was  not  to  be  found  elsewhere 
in  the  neighbourhood. 

The  hand  that  gives  the  angels  wings, 

And  plants  the  forest  by  its  power, 
O'er  mountain,  vale,  and  champaign  flings 

The  seed  of  every  herb  and  flower; 
Nor  forests  stand,  nor  angels  fly, 
More  at  God's  will,  more  in  his  eye, 
Than  the  green  blade  strikes  down  its  root, 
Expands  its  bloom,  and  yields  its  fruit. 

Beautiful  daughter  of  a  line 

Of  unrecorded  ancestry ! 
What  herald's  scroll  could  vie  with  thine, 

Where  monarchs  trace  their  pedigree? 

1  This  ancient  oratory  is  supposed  to  have  stood  between 
TOO  and  S00  years.  It  was  built  by  a  person  who  had  pre- 
viously dwelt  as  a  hermit  in  a  cave  which  he  had  hewed  in 
the  rock  adjacent,  where  he  submitted  to  great  hardships 
and  privations.  He  was  a  native  of  Derby,  and  believed  it 
was  the  will  of  Heaven  that  he  should  leave  his  home  and 


Thy  first  progenitor  had  birth 
While  man  was  yet  unquicken'd  earth, 
And  thy  last  progeny  may  wave 
Its  flag  o'er  man's  last-open'd  grave. 

Down  from  the  day  of  Eden  lost, 

A  generation  in  a  year, 
Unscathed  by  heat,  unnipt  by  frost, 

True  to  the  sovereign  sun,  appear 
The  units  of  thy  transient  race, 
Each  in  its  turn,  each  in  its  place, 
To  make  the  world  a  little  while 
Lovelier  and  sweeter  with  its  smile. 

How  earnest  thou  hither?  from  what  soil, 

Where  those  that  went  before  thee  grew, 
Exempt  from  suffering,  care,  and  toil, 

Clad  by  the  sun-beams,  fed  with  dew  ? 
Tell  me  on  what  strange  spot  of  ground 
Thy  rock-born  kindred  yet  are  found, 
And  I  the  carrier-dove  will  be 
To  bring  them  wondrous  news  of  thee. 

How,  here,  by  wren  or  red-breast  dropt. 

Thy  parent  germ  was  left  behind, 
Or,  in  its  trackless  voyage  stopt, 

While  sailing  on  the'  autumnal  wind, 
Not  rudely  wreek'd,  but  safely  thrown 
On  yonder  ledge  of  quarried  stone, 
Where  the  blithe  swallow  builds  and  sings, 
And  the  pert  sparrow  peeks  his  wings. 

Then,  by  some  glimpse  of  moonshine  sped, 

Queen  Mab,  methinks,  alighting  there, 
A  span-long  hand-breadth  terrace  spread, 

A  fairy-garden  hung  in  air, 
Of  lichens,  moss,  and  earthy  mould, 
To  rival  Babylon's  of  old, 
In  which  that  single  seed  she  nurst, 
Till  forth  its  embryo-wilding  burst. 

Now,  like  that  solitary  star, 

Last  in  the  morn's  resplendent  crown, 
Or  first  emerging,  faint  and  far, 

When  evening-glooms  the  sky  embrown, 

-  t . 

friends  and  live  in  solitude.  The  Abbey  was  founded  in  1204, 
near  the  spot  where  this  holy  man  had  thus  lived  and  died. 
After  being  successively  occupied  by  monks  of  various 
orders,  it  was  broken  up  in  1539.  The  buildings  occupied  a 
large  space  of  ground;  but  beside  the  arch  and  cliapel,  a 
few  fragments  of  walls  and  foundations  alone  can  be  traced. 


TRANSMIGRATIONS.                                                            395 

Thy  beamy  shines  without  defence, 

"  Last  moment  born,  coudemn'd  in  this, 

Tet  safe  from  gentle  violence, 
While  infant-hands  and  maiden-eyes 

The  next  absorpt  in  yon  abyss; 
'Twere  better  ne'er  to  know  the  light, 

Covet  in  vain  thj'  tempting  prize. 

Than  see  and  perish  at  first  sight." 

Yon  arch,  beneath  whose  giant-span 
Thousands  of  passing  feet  have  trod 

Upon  the  dust  that  once  was  man, 
Gather'd  around  the  house  of  Gon, 

—  The  arch  which  seems  to  mock  decay, 

— An  oyster  heard,  and,  as  it  fell, 
Welcomed  the  outcast  to  her  shell, 
Where,  meekly  suffering  that  "sea-change," 
It  grew  to  "something  rich  and  strange," 
And  thence  became  the  brightest  gem 
That  decks  the  Sultan's  diadem, 

Fix'd  as  the  firmament  to-day, 

Is  fading  like  the  rainbow's  form, 

Through  the  slow  stress  of  Time's  long  storm. 

Turn'd  from  a  particle  of  ice 

Into  a  pearl  of  priceless  price. 

—  Thus  can  the  power  that  rules  o'er  all 

But  thou  may'st  boast  perennial  prime ; 

Exalt  the  humble  by  their  fall. 

—  The  blade,  the  bud,  the  flower, 
Not  ruin'd,  but  renew'd  by  Time, 

Beyond  the  great  destroyer's  power, 
Like  day  and  night,  like  spring  and  fall, 
Alternate,  on  the  abbey-wall, 
May  come  and  go,  from  year  to  year, 
And  vanish  but  to  re-appear. 

A  dew-drop,  in  the  flush  of  morn, 
Sparkled  upon  a  blossom'd  thorn, 
Reflecting  from  its  mirror  pure 
The  sun  himself  in  miniature. 
Dancing  for  gladness  on  the  spray, 
It  miss'd  its  hold,  and  slid  away  ; 
A  lark  just  mounting  up  to  sing, 

Nay,  when  in  utter  wreck  are  strown 
Arch,  buttress,  all  this  mighty  mass, 

Caught  the  frail  trembler  on  his  wing, 
But,  borne  aloft  through  gathering  clouds, 
Left  it  entangled  with  their  shrouds  : 

Crumbled,  and  crush'd,  and  overgrown, 

Lost  and  for  ever  lost  it  seem'd, 

With  thorns  and  thistles,  reeds  and  grass, 
While  Xature  thus  the  waste  repairs, 
Thine  offspring.  Nature's  endless  heirs, 

When  suddenly  the  sun  forth  gleam'd, 
And  round  the  showery  vapours  threw 
A  rainbow, — where  our  drop  of  dew 

Earth's  ravaged  fields  may  re-possess, 

'Midst  the  prismatic  hues  of  heaven 

And  plant  once  more  the  wilderness. 

Outshone  the  beams  of  all  the  seven. 

So  be  it:  —  but  the  sun  is  set, 
My  song  must  end,  and  I  depart; 

When  virtue  falls,  'tis  not  to  die, 
But  be  translated  to  the  sky. 

Yet  thee  I  never  will  forget, 

A  babe  into  existence  eame, 

But  bear  thee  in  my  inmost  heart, 

A  feeble,  helpless,  suffering  frame: 

Where  this  shall  thy  memorial  be, 

It  breathed  on  earth  a  little  while, 

—  If  God  so  cares  for  thine  and  thee, 

Then  vanish'd,  like  a  tear,  a  smile, 

How  can  I  doubt  that  love  divine 
Which  watches  over  me  and  mine? 

That  springs  and  falls, —  that  peers  and  parts. 
The  grief,  the  joy  of  loving  hearts : 

1838. 

The  grave  received  the  body  dead 
AVhere  all  that  live  must  find  their  bed. 
Sauk  then  the  soul  to  dust  and  gloom, 

Worms  and  corruption  in  the  tomb  ? 

TRANSMIGRATIONS. 

No, — 'midst  the  rainbow  round  the  throne, 
Caught  up  to  paradise,  it  shone, 

A  hail-stoxe,  from  the  cloud  set  free, 
Shot,  slanting  coastward,  o'er  the  sea, 
And  thus,  as  eastern  tales  relate, 
Lamented  its  untimely  fate; 

And  yet  shall  shine,  until  the  day 
When  heaven  and  earth  must  pass  away, 
And  those  that  sleep  in  Jesus  here 
With  Him  in  glory  shall  appear. 

SONNETS  FROM  THE  ITALIAN. 


Then  shall  that  soul  and  body  meet ; 
And  when  his  jewels  are  complete, 
'Midst  countless  millions,  form  a  gem 
In  the  Redeemer's  diadem, 
Wherewith,  as  thorns  his  brows  once  bound, 
He  for  his  sufferings  shall  be  crown'd; 
Raised  from  the  ignominious  tree 
To  the  right  hand  of  Majesty, 
Head  over  all  created  things, 
The  Lord  of  lords,  the  King  of  kings. 
1839. 


SONNET. 

IMITATED   FKOM  THE  ITALIAN    OF  GABRIELLO   FIAMMA. 
ON    THE    SEPULTURE    OP    CHRIST. 

Where  is  the  aspect  more  than  heaven  serene, 
Which    saints   and   angels    view'd   with    pure 
delight? 

The  meekness  and  the  majesty  of  mien, 

That  won  the  yielding  heart  with  gentle  might  ? 

Where  is  the  voice  with  harmony  replete, 

That  changed  to  love  the  most  obdurate  will  ? 

The  eye,  whose  glance  so  ravishingly  sweet, 
The  soul  with  joy  unspeakable  could  fill? 

Where  is  the  hand  that  crush'd  our  direst  foe, 
And   Satan's   powers   in    chains   of    darkness 
bound? 

Where  is  the  servant's  humble  form  below, 
In  which  the  eternal  Son  of  God  was  found  ? 

—  Lo !  where  his  pilgrimage  of  mercy  ends: 
What  glory  here  into  the  grave  descends ! 
1821. 


BONNET. 

FROM   THE  ITALIAN  OF  GIOVAMBATT1STA   ZAPPI. 

ON   JUDITH    RETURNING    TO    BETHUUA    WITH    THE 
HEAD    OF    HOLOFERNES    IN    HER    HAND. 

She  held  the  head  all-horrible  with  gore ; 

Nor  of  the  woman  in  that  act  was  seen       [rnien  : 
Aught   save   the'  alluring  locks    and    beauteous 

"  Hail,  heroine,  hail !  "  all  voices  cried  before. 

At  the  glad  news,  the  damsels  came  with  speed; 
Some  kiss'd  her  feet  and  some  her  garment's  hem, 
None  her  right-hand,  for  terrible  to  them 

Was  the  remembrance  of  that  fatal  deed. 

A  hundred  prophets  sang  the  matron's  fame; 
"  Fly  round  the  world,  thine  everlasting  name ! 

The  sun  through  all  his  march  shall  tell  thy  story." 
Great  from  that  dread  achievement  though  she  rose, 
Greater  she  stood  at  this  triumphant  close, 

For  she  was  humble  in  the  height  of  glory. 
1825. 


1  The  author  of  the  forc^oin^r  sonnet,  an  Italian  poet  of 
ereat  eminence,  'lied  in  1789.  The  coincidence  between  the 
imagined  peri]  and  rescue  of  the  shepherd  in  the  poem, 
nnd  the  real  danger  and  deliverance  of  the  herdsman  in 


SONNET. 

FROM   THE   ITALIAN   OF  EUSTACHIO   MAXFREDI. 
FOR    A    NUN,    ON    TAKING    THE    VEIL. 

As  when  a  lion,  mad  with  hunger,  springs 

To  seize  the  unguarded  shepherd  by  surprise, 
Fear  in  a  moment  lends  the  victim  wing? : 

To  some  broad  elm  or  ancient  oak  he  flies, 
Climbs  for  his  life,  amidst  the  branches  cowers, 

And  sees  the'  infuriate  brute,  with  ramping  paws, 
Leap  at  the  trunk,  and,  wearying  all  his  powers, 

Spurn  the  loose  sand,  and  grind  his  foaming  jaws. 

So  she,  whom  hell's  fierce  lion  mark'd  for  prey, 
Flies  to  the  tree  of  life's  extended  arms, 

The  cross  of  Calvary, — which,  night  and  day, 
Yields  shade,  and  rest,  and  refuge  from  alarms; 

Whence  she  beholds  the  baffled  fiend  again, 

Gnashing  his  teeth,  slink  back  to  his  old  den.1 


the  following  authenticated  story,  is  very  remarkable. 
The  fart  occurred  towards  the  close  of  the  last  century, 
more  than  fitly  years  after  Manfredi's  decease.  It  was 
first  related  in   England  in  the  journal  of  some  African 


rA  CERTAIN  DISCIPLE.' 


397 


SONNET. 

From  Petrarch:  in  which  the  poet  laments  the  death  of  his 
friend  Siffnort  Styano  Culonna,  occurring  soon  after  that 
of  Laura.  In  the  original  there  is  a  symbolical  allusion 
to  the  names  of  both, —  the  one  as  a  Column,  the  other 
a  Laurel. 

Fall'x  is  the  lofty  Column,  and  uptorn 

The  verdant  Laurel,  in  whose  shade  my  mind 
Found  peace  I  ne'er  again  may  hope  to  find, 

Though  round  the  heavens  o'er  earth    and  ocean 
borne : 

—  0  Death !  how  hast  thou  me  of  comfort  shorn  ! 
My  double  treasure  to  the  grave  consign'd, 

Which  made  life  sweet!  — and  wealth  with  power 
combined 

Can  ne'er  restore  to  soothe  my  thought  forlorn. 

What  can  I  do,  if  fate  have  so  decreed, 
But  let  my  sorrowing  heart  in  secret  bleed, 
My  brow  be  sad,  mine  eyes  o'erflow  with  tears  ? 
—  0  Life  !  so  beautiful  to  look  upon, 
How,  in  a  moment's  space,  for  ever  gone 
Is  all  we  toil  to  gain  through  many  years  ! 


traveller;  but  I  had  its  authenticity  confirmed  to  myself 
by  a  Wesleyau  missionary,  several  of  whose  converts  had 
been  personally  acquainted  with  the  man  who  was  thus 
beset,  and  yet  escaped  from  the  paw  of  the  lion.— A  native 
of  Namaqua-Iand,  in  the  service  of  a  Dutch  farmer,  who 
resided  about  2tt  miles  north  of  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
one  day  attempting  to  drive  his  master's  cattle  into  a  pond' 
situated  between  two  ridges  of  rock,  and  finding  them 
strangely  reluctant,  instead  of  eager  as  they  were  wont  to 
be,  to  approach  and  quench  their  thirst,  looked  about  to 
discover  the  cause,  when  he  espied  a  huge  lion  luxuriating 
in  the  midst  of  the  water.  He  instantly  took  to  his  heels" 
and  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  run  through  the 
herd,  which  was  now  scattering  in  all  directions!  The 
lion,  however,  marked  and  followed  him,  without  felling 
upon  any  of  the  animals.  The  Hottentot  finding  himself 
thus  unexpectedly  singled  out,  scrambled  up  a  tree,  in  the 
trunk  of  which  some  steps  had  been  notched,  to  come  at 
the  birds'  nests  among  the  branches.  These  belonged  to  a 
species  of  the  genus  Loxia,  which  live  in  society,  and  build 
a  whole  commonwealth  of  nests  in  one  cluster,  sometimes 
as  much  as  ten  feet  in  diameter,  under  a  general  penthouse 
or  covering,  and  occupied  by  several  hundred  birds.  Behind 
one  of  these  clumps  the  fugitive  concealed  himself.  At 
the  instant  of  his  ascending,  his  ferocious  pursuer  had 
made  a  spring  at  him,  but  missing  his  aim,  he  stalked  in 
sullen  silence  round  the  tree,  casting,  at  times,  a  terrific 
look  towards  the  poor  fellow,  who  had  crept  and  coiled 
himself  up  into  the  smallest  compass  in  the  rear  of  the 
nc>ts.  After  remaining  a  considerable  time  quiet  and 
motionless,  and  hearing  no  longer  at  intervals  the  growl 


"A  CERTAIN  DISCIPLE." 

Acts,  ix.  10. 

OX   THE    PORTRAIT    OF   THE    REV.    W.    M. 

Long  may  his  living  countenance  express 
The  air  and  lineaments  of  holiness,  [range 

And,  as  from  theme  to  theme  his  thoughts  shall 
In  high  discourse,  its  answering  aspects  change  ! 
—Like  Abraham's,  faith's  sublimest  pledge  display, 
When  bound  upon  the  altar  Isaac  lay; 

—  Kindle  like  Jacob's,  when  he  felt  his  power 
With  God,  and  wrestled  till  the  day-break  hour; 

—  Shine  like  the  face  of  Moses,  when  he  came, 
All  radiant,  from  the  mount  that  burn'd  with  flame; 

—  Flash  like  Elisha's,  when,  his  sire  in  view, 
He  caught  the  mantle,  and  the  spirit  too; 
—Darken  like  Jonah's,  when  with  "Woe  !  "  he  went 
Through  trembling  Nineveh,  yet  cry  "  Repent !  " 

—  Brighten  like  Stephen's,  when  his  foes  amazed, 
As  if  an  angel  stood  before  them,  gazed; 

And  like  that  martyr's,  at  his  latest  breath, 
Reflect  his  Saviour's  image  full  in  death. 


and  the  step  of  the  monster,  he  ventured  to  put  forth  his 
head  from  his  hiding-place,  hoping  ibat  bis  besieger  had 
decamped,  but.  to  his  horror  and  amazement,  his  eyes  met 
those  of  the  lion,  steadfastly  looking  upwards,  and.  as  lie 
declared,  flashing  fire  at  the  recovered  sight  of  him.  The 
beast  then  lay  down  at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  where  he  con- 
tinued without  stirring  from  the  spot  for  twenty-four  hours ; 
when,  being  parched  with  thirst,  he  bounded  off  to  a  spring 
at  some  distance.  The  blockade  was  no  sooner  raised  than 
the  Hottentot  seized  the  opportunity,  nimbly  descended, 
and  fled  homewards  as  fast  as  his  feet  could  carry  him. 
There,  though  about  a  mile  off,  he  safely  arrived.  It  after- 
wards appeared  that  the  lion  had  returned  t<>  the  tree,  and 
missing  his  prey  there,  '-like  a  stanch  murderer  steady  to 
his  purpose,''  had  hunted  him  by  the  scent,  or  the  track  of 
his  feet  in  the  sand,  to  within  three  hundred  yards  of  his 
door,  and  then,  as  the  sonnet  says,  "gnashing  his  teeth 
slunk  back  to  his  old  d,  n." 

It  can  hardly  escape  the  notice  of  any  intelligent  reader 
how  far,  in  this  case,  fact  transcends  fiction  ;  and  how  much 
more  of  characteristic  majesty  and  overpowering  terror 
there  is  in  the  patieut  watching  of  the  real  lion  under  the 
tree,  than  in  the  impotent  rage  of  the  imaginary  one  rend- 
ing the  bark  with  bis  claws,  and  spurning  the  sand  with 
his  feet,  to  no  purpose.  Nature  and  truth  must  always 
exceed  fancy  and  fable,  where  the  creations  of  the  latter 
are  not  founded  upon  actual  knowledge  of  the  former. 
Here  the  conception  of  the  poet  is  great,  and  his  picture 
fine;  but  the  stern  reality  is  greater,  and  the  live  spectacle 
finer,  beyond  comparison. 


398 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  REV.  T.  EAWSON  TAYLOR. 


Yea,  ever  in  the  true  disciple's  mien 
His  meek  and  lowly  Master  must  be  seen, 
And  in  the  fervent  preacher's  boldest  word, 
That  voice  which  was  the  voice  of  mercy  heard: 
—  So  may  the  love  which  drew,  as  with  a  chain, 
The  Son  of  God  from  heaven,  his  heart  constrain, 
Draw  him  from  earth,  and  fix  his  hopes  above, 
While  with  the  self-same  chain,  that  chain  of  love, 
In  new  captivity,  he  strives  to  bind 
Sin's  ransom'd  slaves,  his  brethren  of  mankind; 
Labouring  and  suffering  still,  whate'er  the  cost, 
By  life  or  death,  to  seek  and  save  the  lost; 
That,  following  Christ  in  pure  simplicity, 
As  He  was  in  this  world,  himself  may  be, 
Till,  call'd  with  Him  in  glory  to  sit  down, 
And  with  the  crown  then  given  the  Giver  crown. 
1834. 


STANZAS    ON    THE    DEATH    OP 
THE    LATE 

REV.  THOMAS  RAWSON  TAYLOR, 

OP  BRADFORD,  IN  YORKSHIRE  : 

A  young  minister  of  great  promise,  and  a  poet  of  no  mean 
order,  whose  verses,  entitled  "  Communion  with  the 
Dead,"  on  the  removal  in  early  life  of  a  sister,  would  en- 
dear and  perpetuate  the  remembrance  of  both,  were  they 
as  generally  known  as  they  deserve  to  be.  The  survivor 
died  on  the  7th  of  March,  1S35,  aged  28  years. 

Millions  of  eyes  have  wept  o'er  mine, 

Once  living,  beautiful  and  young, 
Now  dust  and  ashes,  and  their  names 

Extinct  on  earth,  because  unsung: 
Yet  song  itself  hath  but  its  day, 
Like  the  swan's  dirge, —  a  dying  lay. 

A  dying  lay  I  would  rehearse, 

In  memory  of  one  whose  breath 
Pour'd  forth  a  stream  of  such  sweet  verse 

As  might  have  borne  away  from  death 
The  trophy  of  a  sister's  name, 
— Winning  at  once  and  giving  fame. 

But  all  is  mortal  here, — that  song 

Pass'd  like  the  breeze,  which  steals  from  flowers 
Their  fragrance,  yet  repays  the  wrong 

With  dew-drops,  shaken  down  in  showers  ; 
Ah  !  like  those  flowers  with  dew-drops  fed, 
They  sprang,  they  blossom'd,  they  are  dead. 


The  poet  (spared  a  little  while) 

Follow'd  the  sister  all  too  soon  ; 
The  hectic  rose  that  flush'd  his  smile 

Grew  pale  and  wither'd  long  ere  noon  ; 
In  youth's  exulting  prime  he  gave 
What  death  demanded  to  the  grave. 

But  that  which  death  nor  grave  could  seize, — 
His  soul, — -into  his  Saviour's  hands 

(AVho  by  the  cross's  agonies 

Redeem'd  a  people  from  all  lands) 

He  yielded,  till  "that  day"1  to  keep, 

And  then  like  Stephen  fell  asleep. 

"That  day"  will  come;  meanwhile  weep  not, 
0  ye  that  loved  him  !  and  yet  more 

Love  him  for  grief  that  "  he  is  not : " — 
Rather  with  joy  let  eyes  run  o'er, 

And  warm  hearts  hope  his  face  to  see 

Where  'tis  for  ever  "  good  to  be." 


STANZAS    IN    MEMORY    OF 

ROWLAND  HODGSON,  ESQ. 

OP    SHEFFIELD, 

Who  departed  this  life  January  27,  1837,  aged  63  years. — 
Through  a  long  period  of  severe  bodily  affliction,  aggra- 
vated in  the  sequel  by  loss  of  sight,  he  signally  exempli- 
fied the  Christian  graces  of  faith,  hope,  and  charity,  with 
humble  resignation  to  the  will  of  God.  He  had  been 
from  his  youth  one  of  the  most  active,  liberal,  and 
unwearied  supporters  of  benevolent  and  evangelical 
institutions  throughout  this  neighbourhood  and  else- 
where, in  foreign  lands  as  well  as  at  home.  The  writer 
of  these  lines  had  the  happiness  to  be  his  travelling  com- 
panion on  annual  visits  and  temporary  sojourns,  which 
they  made  together  in  many  parts  of  the  kingdom,  from 
the  autumn  of  1S17  to  the  same  season  of  1836. 

Part  I. 

Go  where  thy  heart  had  gone  before, 

And  thy  heart's  treasure  la}' ; 
Go,  and  with  open'd  eye  explore 

Heaven's  uncreated  day : 
Light  in  the  Lord,  light's  fountain,  see, 
And  light  in  Him  for  ever  be. 

■  2  Tim.  i.  12. 


But  darkness  thou  bust  left  behind  : 

No  sign,  nor  sight,  nor  sound, 
At  home,  abroad,  of  thee  I  find, 

Where  thou  wert  ever  found; 
Then  gaze  I  on  thy  vacant  place, 
Till  my  soul's  eye  meets  thy  soul's  face  :  — 

As,  many  a  time,  quite  through  the  veil 

Of  flesh  was  wont  to  shine, 
When  thy  meek  aspect,  saintly  pale, 

In  kindness  turn'd  to  mine, 
And  the  queneh'd  eye  its  film  forgot, 
Look'd  full  on  me, — yet  saw  me  not ! 

Then,  through  the  body's  dim  eclipse, 

What  humble  accents  broke, 
While,  breathing  prayer  or  praise,  thy  lips 

Of  light  within  thee  spoke  ! 
'Midst  Egypt's  darkness  to  be  felt, 
Thy  mind  in  its  own  Goshen  dwelt. 

Nor  less  in  days  of  earlier  health, 

When  life  to  thee  was  dear, 
Borne  on  the  flowing  tide  of  wealth, 

To  me  this  truth  was  clear, 
That  hope  in  Christ  was  thy  best  health, 
Riches  that  make  not  wings  thy  wealth. 

When  frequent  sickness  bow'd  thy  head, 

And  every  labouring  breath, 
As  with  a  heavier  impulse,  sped 

Thy  downward  course  to  death, 
Faith  falter' d  not  that  hope  to  show, 
Though  words,  like  life's  last  drops,  fell  slow. 

How  often  when  I  turn'd  away, 

As  having  seen  the  last 
Of  thee  on  earth,  my  heart  would  say, — 

"  When  my  few  days  are  past, 
Such  strength  be  mine,  though  nature  shrink, 
The  cup  my  Father  gives,  to  drink  ! " 

I  saw  thee  slumbering  in  thy  shroud, 

As  yonder  moon  I  view, 
Now  glimmering  through  a  snow-white  cloud, 

'Midst  heaven's  eternal  blue ;  — 
I  saw  thee  lower'd  into  the  tomb, 
Like  that  cloud  deepening  into  gloom. 


All  darkness  thou  hast  left  behind  ; 

—  It  was  not  thee  they  wound 
In  dreary  grave-clothes,  and  consign'd 

To  perish  in  the  ground; 
'Twas  but  thy  mantle,  dropt  in  sight, 
When  thou  wcrt  vanishing  in  light. 

That  mantle,  in  earth's  wardrobe  lain, 

A  frail  but  precious  trust, 
Thou  wilt  reclaim  and  wear  again, 

When,  freed  from  worms  and  dust, 
The  bodies  of  the  saints  shall  be 
Their  robes  of  immortality. 

Part  II. 

These  fragments  of  departed  years, 

I  gather  up  and  store, 
Since  thou  —  in  mercy  to  our  tears 

And  prayers  —  art  heal'd  no  more. 
In  that  last  war  was  no  discharge; 
— Yet  walks  thy  ransom'd  soul  at  large. 

For  what,  my  friend,  was  death  to  thee  ? 

A  king  ?  a  conqueror  ?  —  No  : 
Death,  swallow'd  up  in  victory, 

Himself  a  captive  foe, 
Was  sent  in  chains  to  thy  release, 
By  Him  who  on  the  cross  made  peace. 

When  year  by  year,  on  pilgrimage, 

We  journey'd  side  by  side, 
And  pitch'd  and  struck,  from  stage  to  stage, 

Our  tents,  had  we  one  guide  ? 
One  aim  ?  —  are  all  our  meetings  past  ? 
Must  our  last  parting  he  our  last? 

Nay,  God  forbid  !  —  if,  hand  and  heart, 

On  earth  we  loved  to  roam, 
— Where  once  to  meet  is  ne'er  to  part, 

In  heaven's  eternal  home, 
Our  Father's  house,  not  made  with  hands, 
May  we  renew  our  friendship's  bands  ! 

Thus,  as  I  knew  thee  well  and  long, 

Thy  private  worth  be  told  : 
What  thou  wert  more,  affection's  song 

Presumes  not  to  unfold  : 
Thy  works  of  faith,  and  zeal  of  love, 
Are  they  not  registcr'd  above  ? 


400 


STANZAS  IX  MEMORY  OF  ROWLAND  HODGSON,  ESQ. 


Are  tbey  not  registered  below? 

To  show,  where  all  perfections  meet, 

—  If  few  their  praise  record, 

The  orb  of  Deity  complete. 

Yet,  in  the  judgment,  all  shall  know 

Thou  didst  them  to  thy  Loud; 

Paut  III. 

For  'twas  thy  soul's  delight  to  cheer 
The  least  of  all  his  brethren  here. 

So  rest  in  peace,  thou  blessed  soul ! 
Where  sin  and  sorrow  end; 

Though  less  than  even  the  least  of  these 

Thou  didst  thyself  esteem, 
Thou  wert  a  flower-awakening  breeze, 

A  meadow-watering  stream: 

So  may  /  follow  to  the  goal, 

—  Not  (See,  not  (Aee,  my  friend  ! 
But  Him,  whom  thou,  through  joy  and  woe, 
Thyself  didst  follow  on  to  know. 

The  breeze  unseen  its  odours  shed, 
The  stream  unheard,  its  bounty  spread. 

Faint  yet  pursuing,  I  am  strong, 
Whene'er  His  steps  I  trace; 

What  art  thou  now  ?  —  Methinks  for  thee 

Else,  slow  of  heart,  and  prone  to  wrong, 

Heaven  brightens  round  its  King ; 

I  3"et  may  lose  the  race, 

New  beams  of  the  Divinity 

If  on  tlii/  course  I  fix  mine  eye, 

New  landing  spirits  bring, 

And  Him  in  thee  not  glorify. 

As  God  on  each  his  image  seals, 

And  ray  by  ray  Himself  reveals. 

The  wild,  the  mountain-top,  the  sea, 
The  throng'd  highway  he  trode, 

While  ray  by  ray  those  thronging  lines 

The  path  to  quiet  Bethany, 

To  one  great  centre  tend, 

And  Calvary's  dolorous  road; 

Fulness  of  grace  and  glory  shines 

Where  He,  then,  leads  me  must  be  right; 

In  Christ,  their  source  and  end, 

—  I  walk  by  faith,  and  not  by  sight. 

THE    END. 


LINDSAY   &,   BLAKISTON'S    PUBLICATIONS. 


BETHUNE'S  POEMS, 

LINDSAY   &   BLAKISTON   PUBLISH, 

LAYS    OF    LOVE    AND    FAITH, 

WITH    OTHER 

FUGITIVE   POEMS. 

BY    THE 

REV.    G.    W.    BETHUNE,    D.D. 

Thia  w  an  elegant  Volume,  beautifully  printed  on  the  finest  and  whiter 
paper,  and  richly  bound  in  various  styles. 


As  one  arranges  in  a  simple  vase 

A  little  store  of  unpretending  flowers, 

So  gathered  I  some  records  of  past  hours, 
And  trust  them,  gentle  reader,  to  thy  grace. 
Nor  hope  that  in  my  pages  thou  wilt  trace 

The  brilliant  proof  of  high  poetic  powers; 
But  dear  memorials  of  happy  days, 

When  heaven  shed  blessings  on  my  heart  like  shower*. 
Clothing  with  beauty  e'en  the  desert  place; 
Till  I,  with  thankful  gladness  in  my  looks, 

Turned  me  to  God,  sweet  nature,  loving  friends, 
Christ's  little  children,  well-worn  ancient  books, 

The  charm  of  Art,  the  rapture  music  sends; 
And  sang  away  the  grief  that  on  man's  lot  attends. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE   PRESS. 

We  beg  leave  to  express  our  thanks  to  the  diligent  author  of  these  Poems,  for  this 
additional  and  highly  valuable  contribution  to  the  treasures  of  American  literature. 
The  prose  writings  of  Dr.  Bethune,  by  their  remarkably  pure  and  ehaste  language, 
their  depth  and  clearness  of  thought,  their  force  and  beauty  of  illustration,  and  by  their 
intelligent  and  elevated  piety,  have  justly  secured  to  him  a  place  with  the  very  beat 
authors  of  our  land,  whose  works  are  destined  to  exert  a  wide-spread  and  most  salutary 
influence  on  the  forming  character  and  expanding  mind  of  our  growing  republic.  Thia 
volume  of  his  collected  poetry,  though  it  be,  as  the  author  observes  in  his  beautiful 
introductory  sonnet,  but  the  "gathered  records  of  past  hours,"  or  the  fruit  of  moments 
of  industrious  relaxation  from  more  severe  labours,  may  without  fear  take  its  place  by 
the  side  of  our  best  poetic  productions;  and  there  are  many  pieces  in  it,  which,  for 
accuracy  of  rhythm,  for  refined  sentiment,  energy  of  thought,  flowing  and  lucid  ex- 
pression, and  subduing  pathos,  are  unsurpassed  by  any  writer. 

Exteriorly,  and  in  the  matters  of  paper  and  typography,  this  is  an  elegant  volume, 
and  so  far  is  a  fitting  casket  for  the  gems  it  contains — for  gems  these  beautiful  poems 
are,  of  "purest  ray  serene" — lustrous  jewels — ornaments  of  purest  virgin  gold. 

Many  hallowed  breathings  will  be  found  among  the  poems  here  collected — all  distin 
juished  by  correct  taste  and  refined  feelins.  rarely  dazzling  by  gorgeous  imagery,  but 
always  charming  by  their  purity  and  truthfulness  to  nature.— .N".  Y.  Commercial. 


The  author  of  this  volume  has  a  gifted  mind,  improved  by  extensive  education;  a 
cheerful  temper,  chastened  by  religion ;  a  sound  taste,  refined  and  improved  by  extensive 
observation  and  much  reading,  and  the  gift  of  poetry. — North  American. 


The  Volume  before  us  contains  much  that  is  truly  beautiful ;  many  gems  that  sparkle 
with  genius  and  feeling.  They  are  imbued  with  the  true  spirit  of  poesy,  and  may  \t 
lead  again  and  again  with  pleasure.— Inquirer. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON 

P  D  B  L  14  II 

THE   LIFE,    LETTERS    AND    POEMS 

OF 

BERNARD  BARTON. 

EDITED   BY   HIS  DAUGHTER. 
With  a  Portrait. 

Extract  from  the  Preface. 
In  compiling  the  present  volume,  it  has  been  the  wish  of  the  editor,  in 
some  measure,  to  carry  out  her  father's  favourite  but  unfulfilled  design 
of  an  autobiography.  It  is  with  reference  to  this  that  both  the  letters 
and  poems  have  been  selected.  The  great  bulk  of  the  poems  are  reli- 
gious ;  but  there  are  not  wanting  those  of  a  lighter  character,  which  will 
be  found  to  be  the  wholesome  relaxation  of  a  pure,  good,  and  essentially 
religious  mind.  These  may  sccceed  each  other  as  gracefully  and  bene- 
ficently as  April  sunshine  and  showers  over  the  meadow.  So,  indeed, 
such  moods  followed  in  his  own  mind,  and  were  so  revealed  in  his  do- 
mestic intercourse. 


OPINIONS    OF   THE    PRESS. 

This  is  a  very  handsome  volume,  enriched  with  a  neat  and  graphic  portrait 
of  the  worthy  quaker  lyrist,  and  forms  a  valuable  addition  to  pur  poetical 
literature.  In  the  interesting  Memoir  and  rich  collection  of  Epistolary  Re- 
mains, the  fair  editress  has  conferred  a  most  nccoplable  favour  upon  the  many 
admirers  of  her  gifted  parent.  Among  the  correspondence  are  letters  from 
Southey,  Charles  Lamb,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  and  other  distinguished  cotempo- 
ties. — Evening  Bulletin.  

The  poems  of  this  meritorious  writer,  better  known  by  the  name  of  tho 
Quaker  Poet,  have  long  been  popular  in  England,  and  are  much   admired 
in  this  country  for  their  simplicity  and  warmth  of  feeling. — American  an 
Commercial  Advertiser,  Baltimore. 


Barton  was  a  Quaker,  but  mingled  a  sood  deal  with  the  "world's  people," 
at  least  with  such  as  were,  like  himself,  addicted  to  literacy  pursuits.     His 
correspondence  with  Southey  and  Charles  Lamb,  is  full  of  interest.     Many 
of  his  poems  are  very  beautiful ;  and  the  present  volume  is  worth  a  nlv 
every  good  library. — Evening  Transcript. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH 

WATSON'S 
DICTIONARY  OF  POETICAL  QUOTATIONS 

CONSISTING   OF 

ELEGANT  EXTRACTS  ON  EVERY  SUBJECT, 

OOMPILED  FROM  VARIOUS  AUTHORS,  AND  ARRANGED  UNDER 
APPROPRIATE  HEADS, 

BY  JOHN  T.  WATSON,  M.  D., 

WITH 

NINE  SPLENDID  ILLUSTRATIONS  ON  STEEL, 

INCLUDING 


The  Noontide  Dream, 
Contemplation, 
Modesty,  • 

The  Thunder-Storm. 


The  Village  Tomb-Cutter, 

The  Parting  Wreath, 

Bereavement, 

The  Bashful  Lover, 


Love  and  Innocence. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE   PRESS. 


We  may  safely  recommend  this  book  as  a  collection  of  some  of  the  most  beautiful  conception*, 
elegantly  expressed,  to  be  found  in  the  range  of  English  and  American  poetry.— Saturday  Courier. 


We  regard  this  as  the  best  book  of  a  similar  character  yet  published.— Germantoum  Telegraph. 


In  this  Dictionary  of  Quotations  every  subject  is  touched  upon  ;  and,  while  the  selection  has  been 
carefully  made,  it  has  the  merit  of  containing  the  best  thoughts  of  the  Poets  of  our  own  day,  which 
no  other  collection  has.—  U.  S.  Gazette. 


The  selections  in  this  book  are  made  with  taste  from  all  poets  of  note,  and  are  classed  under  a 
i;reat  variety  of  subjects.—  Presbyter  tan. 

The  Quotations  appear  to  have  been  selected  with  great  judgment  and  taste,  by  one  well  acquainted 
with  whatever  is  most  elegant  and  beautiful  in  the  whole  range  of  literature.— Christian  Observer. 

A  volume  exhibiting  industry  and  taste  on  the  part  of  the  compiler,  which  will  often  facilitate  re- 
searches in  the  mines  of  gold  whence  it  was  dug—  Maysvtlle  Eagle. 

In  his  arrangement,  the  compiler  hns  assigned  the  immortal  Shakspeare  his  deserved  pre-eminence, 
end  illumined  his  pages  with  the  choicest  beauties  of  the  British  Poets.— Herald. 


We  do  not  hesitate  to  commend  it  to  our  poetry-loving  readers,  as  a  book  worth  buying,  and  worth 
reading.— Clinton  Republican. 

The  extracts  display  great  care  and  taste  on  the  part  of  the  editor,  are  arranged  in  chronological 
order,  and  embrace  passages  from  all  the  poets,  from  the  earliest  period  of  our  literature  to  the  pre- 
§eil.  time. — State  Gazette. 


This  book  will  be  read  with  interest,  as  containing  the  best  thoughts  of  the  best  poets,  and  is  con- 
venient for  reference,  because  furnishing  appropriate  quotations  to  illustrate  avast  variety  of  subjects. 
— Old  Col  my  Memorial. 


We  view  it  as  a  casket  filled  with  the  most  precious  gems  of  learning  and  fancy,  and  so  arranged 
as  to  fascinate,  at  a  glam  e.  the  delicate  eye  of  taste  By  referring  to  the  index,  which  is  arranged  id 
alphabetical  oider,  you  can  find,  in  a  moment,  the  brst  ideas  of  the  most  inspired  poets  of  this  country 
as  well  as  Eur>pe,  upjn  any  desired  subject.— Chronicle. 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

PUBLISH  THE 

AMERICAN  FEMALE  POETS 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 
CAROLINE    MAY. 

AN  ELEGANT  VOLUME,   WITH  A  HANDSOME   VIGNETTE  TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF   MRS.  OSGOOD, 
The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 
the  writings  of 
Anne  Bradstreet,  Jane  T  a  veil,  Anne  Eliza  Bleecker,  Margarettit 
V,  Fangeres,  Phillis  Wheatley,  Mercy  Warren,  Sarah   Porterj 
Sarah.   Weutworth    Morton,    Mrs,    Little,    Maria    A,    Brooks, 
Lydia  Huntley  Sigourney,  Anna  Maria  Wells,  Caroline  Gil- 
man,  Sarah  Josepha  Hale,  Maria  James,  Jessie  (••  M'Cartee, 
Mrs,  Gray,   Eliza  Pollen,   Louisa  Jane    Hall,  Mrs,  Swift, 
Mrs,  E,  C,  Kinney,  Marguerite  St.  Leon  Loud,  Luella  J, 
Case,  Elizabeth  Bogart,  A,  D.  AVoodbridge,  Elizabeth 
Margaret  Chandler,  Emma  C.  Embury,  Sarah  Helena 
Whitman,  Cynthia  Taggart,  Elizabeth  J.  Eames, 
&c,  &c.  &c. 
The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  ol 
the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  topography, 
and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles. 

EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  PREFACE. 
One  of  the  most  striking  characteristics  of  the  present  age 
t  the  number  of  female  writers,  especially  in  the  department 
.-f  belles-lettres.  This  is  even  more  true  of  the  United 
States,  than  of  the  old  world ;  and  poetry,  which  is  the  lan- 
guage of  the  affections,  has  been  freely  employed  among  us 
to  express  the  emotions  of  woman's  heart. 

As  the  rare  exotic,  costly  because  of  the  distance  from 
which  it  is  brought,  will  often  suffer  in  comparison  of  beauty 
and  fragrance  with  the  abundant  wild  flowers  of  our  mea- 
dows and  w7oodland  slopes,  so  the  reader  of  our  present 
volume,  if  ruled  by  an  honest  taste,  will  discover  in  the  effu- 
sions of  our  gifted  countrywomen  as  much  grace  of  form, 
and  powerful  sweetness  of  thought  and  feeling,  as  in  the 
blossoms  of  woman's  genius  culled  from  other  lands. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON 

HAVE  RECENTLY  PUBLISHED, 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR, 

EY   THE 

POETS  AND   PAINTERS: 

CONTAINING 

MAN\r    GEMS     OF    ART     AND    GENIUS, 

ILLUSTRATIVE     OF 

THE  SAVIOUR'S  LIFE  AND  PASSION. 

EDITED    BY    THE 

REV.   RUFUS  GRISWOLD. 

THE  ILLUSTRATIONS,  WHICH  ARE  EXQUISITELY  ENGRAVED  ON  STEEL, 
BY  JOHN  SARTAIN,  ARE  : 


The  Holy  Family,  painted  by  N.  Poussin  ; 
The  Saviour,  by  Paul  Delaroche ; 
Chnst  by  the  Well  of  Sychar,  by  Emelie  Signol ; 
The  Daughter  of  Janus,  by  Delonue  ; 


Walking  on  the  Sea,  by  Henry  Richter ; 
The  Ten  Lepers,  by  A.  Vandyke  ; 
The  Last  Supper,  by  Benjamin  West; 
The  Women  at  the  Sepulchre,  by  Philip  Viet 


THE  LITERARY  CONTENTS,  COMPRISING  SIXTY-FOUR  POEMS,  ARE  EY 

Milton,  Hemans,  Montgomery,  Keble,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  Miss  r, ac- 
tion, Dale,  Willis,  Bulfinch,  Bethnne,  Longfellow,  Whit t  ier, 
Croly,  Klopstock,  Mrs.  Osgood,  Pierpont,  Crosswell,  and 
other  celebrated  Poets  of  this  and  other  Countries* 

The  volume  is  richly  and  beautifully  bound  in  Turkey  Morocco,  gilt,  white 
calf  extra,  or  embossed  cloth,  gilt  edges,  sides  and  back. 


We  commend  this  volume  to  the  attention  of  those  who  would  place  a 
Souvenir  in  the  hands  of  their  friends,  to  invite  them  in  the  purest  strains  of 
poetry,  and  by  the  eloquence  of  art,  to  study  the  Life  of  the  Saviour. — Christ.  Obt. 


The  contents  are  so  arranged  as  to  constitute  a  Poetical  and  Pictorial  Life 
of  the  Saviour,  and  we  can  think  of  no  more  appropriate  gift-book.  In  typo- 
graphy, embellishments,  and  binding,  we  have  recently  seen  nothing  more 
tasteful  and  rich. — North  American. 


We  like  this  book,  as  well  for  its  beauty  as  for  its  elevated  character.  It 
is  just  such  an  one  as  is  suited,  either  for  a  library,  or  a  parlour  centre-table ; 
and  no  one  can  arise  from  its  perusal  without  feeling  strongly  the  sublimity 
>»nd  enduring  character  of  the  Christian  religion. — Harrisburg  Telegraph. 


This  is  truly  a  splendid  volume  in  all  its  externals,  while  its  contents  are 
richly  worthy  of  the  magnificent  style  in  which  they  are  presented.  As  illus- 
trations of  the  Life  and  Passion  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  it  will  form  an 
appropriate  Souvenir  for  the  season  in  which  we  commemorate  his  coming 
•port  earth. — Neai's  Gazette. 


LINDSAY  &,  BLAKISTON'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIVES  OF  THE  APOSTLES; 

ILLUSTRATED    BY 

CELEBRATED  POETS  AND  PAINTERS. 

EDITED    DY 

H.   HASTINGS   WELD. 
Eight  Illustrations,  beautifully  Engraved  on  Steel,  by  Sartain. 


Christ's  charge  to  Peter,  by  Raphael ; 
Peter  and  John  healing  the  Lame  Man  at  tk 
Beautiful  Gate  of  the  Temple,  bj  Kaphtel, 
Paul  before  Agrippa,  by  Sartain  : 
John  on  the  Isle  of  Patinos,  by  Decaine. 


The  Redeemer,  painted  by  Decaine  —  Frontis- 
piece ; 

Intinch  in  Syria,  by  Harding— Vignette  title ; 

John  reproving  Herod,  by  Le  Brun  ; 

Christ,  with  his  Disciples,  weeping  over  Jerusa- 
lem, by  Begas , 

THE  LITERARY  CONTENTS  CONSIST  OF  UPWARDS  OF  SEVENTY  POEMS,  BY 

Bishop  Ileber,   Lowell,  Keble,  Hannah  F.  Gould,  Clark,  Mrs. 
Hemans,  Mrs.  Sigourney,  Barton,  Bryant,  Miss  Landon,  Tap- 
pan,  Pierpont,  Longfellow,  Miss  Davidson,  Dale,  Cros- 
well,  Percival,  Bowring,  and  other  celebrated  Poets. 

Beautifully  bound,  in  various  styles,  to  match  "Scenes  in  the  Life 
of  the  Saviour." 

We  do  not  know  where  we  could  find  a  more  elegant  and  appropriate 
present  for  a  Christian  friend.  It  will  always  have  value.  It  is  not  one  of 
those  ephemeral  works  which  are  read,  looked  at,  and  forgotten.  It  tells  of 
scenes  dear  to  the  hearts  of  Christians,  which  must  ever  find  there  an  abiding 
place. — Banner  of  the  Cross. 

Here  is  truly  a  beautiful  volume,  admirable  in  design,  and  perfect  in  its 
execution.  The  editor,  with  a  refined  taste,  and  a  loving  appreciation  of 
Scripture  history,  has  selected  some  of  the  best  writings  of  ancient  and  modern 
authors  in  illustration  of  various  scenes  in  the  Lives  of  the  Apostles,  whilst 
his  own  facile  pen  has  given  us  in  prose  a  series  of  excellent  contributions. 
The  lyre  of  Heber  seems  to  vibrate  again  as  we  turn  over  its  pages  ;  and 
Keble,  Jenner,  Cowper,  Herrick,  Bernard,  Barton,  and  a  brilliant  host  of 
glowing  writers,  shine  again  by  the  light  of  Christian  truth,  and  the  beaming 
effulgence  of  a  pure  religion.  It  is  an  elegant  and  appropriate  volume  for  a 
Christmas  gift. —  Transcript. 

The  exterior  is  novel  and  beautiful ;  the  typography  is  in  the  highest  style 
of  the  art;  and  the  engravings,  nine  in  number,  are  among  the  best  efforts 
of  Mr.  Sartain.  The  prose  articles  contributed  by  the  editor  are  well  written  ; 
and  the  poetical  selections  are  made  with  judgment.  The  volume  is  a  worthy 
companion  of  "  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  the  Saviour,"  and  both  are  much  mora 
worthy  of  Christian  patronage  than  the  great  mass  of  annuals. — Presbyterian. 


The  above  volumes  are  among  the  most  elegant  specimens  from  the 
American  press.  In  neatness  and  chasteness  of  execution,  they  are  perhaps 
unsurpassed.  The  engravings  are  of  the  highest  order;  and  illustrate  most 
strikingly,  and  with  great  beauty,  some  of  the  most  sublime  and  the  most 
touching  Scripture  scenes.  They  also  contain  some  of  the  richest  specimen! 
of  Sacred  Poetry,  whose  subject  and  style  are  such  as  deeply  to  interest  tha 
imagination,  and  at  the  same  time  to  make  the  heart  better.  We  hope  th« 
Christian's  table,  at  least,  may  be  adorned  with  the  volumes  above  mentioned, 
»nd  such  as  these. — New  England  Puritan. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH, 

SCENES  IN  THE  LIVES  OF  THE  PATRIARCHS 
AND  PROPHETS ; 

A    COMPANION    TO    THE 

rCENES  IN  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR  AND  THE  APOSTLES. 

EDITED  BY  THE  REV.  H.  HASTINGS  WELD. 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY 
EIGHT   ENGRAVINGS    ON   STEEL,   BY   SARTAIN. 

INCLUDING 

Saul  presenting  his  Daughter  to  David Painted  by  Woodforde. 

A  View  of  Hebron,  Vignette  Title-page....  "  Bracebridge. 

God's  Covenant  with  Noah "  Rothermel. 

Abraham  Offering  up  Isaac "  Westall. 

The  Arrival  of  Rebekah "  Schopin. 

Jacob  at  the  House  of  Laban "  Schopin. 

Moses  Smiting  the  Rock u  Murillo. 

Elijah  Fed  by  Ravens "  Corbould. 

With  a  choice  Selection  of  Matter  from  the  Writings  of 

Milton,  Hemans,  Wordsworth,  Crolt,  Willis,  Young,  Sigournsi 

Whittier,  Howitt,  Scott,  Heber,  Montgomery,  Milman, 

Hannah  More,  Watts,  Dale,  Tappan,  and  other 

Eminent  Writers  of  this  and  other  Countries. 

Handsomely  bound  in  cloth  gilt,  Turkey  Morocco,  or  in  white  calf. 


OPINIONS   OF   THE   PRESS. 

he  character  of  the  scenes  represented,  the  pure  and  eloquent  sacred  poetry  which 
the  work  contains,  render  it  a  book  peculiarly  befitting  presentation  at  that  season  when 
the  world  is  celebrating  the  birth  of  its  Saviour.  We  hope  this  joint  effort  of  the  penci 
and  pen  to  render  familiar  the  sacred  scenes  of  the  Old  Testament,  will  meet  the  support 
which  it  deserves  from  all  lovers  of  the  sacred  volume. — Christian  Advocate  and  Journal. 


We  do  but  simple  justice  when  we  declare,  that  it  has  seldom  fallen  to  our  lot  to 
notice  a  book  which  possesses  so  many  and  such  varied  attractions.  Mr.  Weld  hw 
gathered  from  the  best  writers  the  most  beautiful  of  their  works,  in  illustration  of  nil 
theme,  and  prepared  for  the  reader  a  rich  repast.  We  are  assured  that  the  volume  before 
us  will,  like  those  which  preceded  it.  come  acceptably  before  the  public,  and  be  a  favourite 
offering  during  the  approaching  holiday  season. — Graham's  Magazine. 

It  is  a  handsome  octavo,  beautifully  illustrated  with  engravings  on  steel,  in  Sartain't 
bat  manner.  It  is  published  in  uniform  style  with  "The  Scenes  in  the  Life  of  the 
Saviour,"  and  is  every  way  worthy  to  continue  this  fine  series  of  scriptural  works. 
Tfee  literary  portion  of  the  volume  is  admirably  chosen,  embracing  many  of  the  most 
distinguished  names  in  America.  As  a  work  of  art,  it  is  a  credit  to  the  book-making 
of  our  country. — Boston  Atlas. 


This  is  pre-eminently  a  book  of  beauty — printed  in  the  best  style,  on  the  finest  and 
fairest  paper,  and  embellished  with  the  richest  specimens  of  the  engraver's  art.  Its 
contents  comprise  a  choice  selection  from  the  writings  of  celebrated  poets,  illustrative 
of  the  character,  the  countries,  and  of  the  times  of  the  Patriarchs  and  Prophets.  Toe 
elevated  spirit  and  character  of  the  sacred  poetry  in  this  volume,  as  well  as  its  surpass. 
ing  beauty,  will  render  it  peculiarly  valuable  as  a  present  or  an  ornament  for  the  paxloul 
l*ble.— Christian  Observer. 


LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  CHOICE  SELECTION  OF  PROSE  QUOTATIONS. 

TREASURED   THOUGHTS 

FROM 

FAVOURITE   AUTHORS, 

COLLECTED    AND    ARRANGED 

B  Y 

CAROLINE    MAY, 

BDITOR    OF     "THE    AMERICAN    FEMALE     POETS, "ETC. 

"The  'treasured  thoughts'  that  come  from  thence. 

Are  not  for  vain  display  J 
But  sterling  coins  for  free  expense, 

The  use  of  every  day  : 
A  currency  for  inner  life 

To  keep  its  revenue. 
Of  joy  and  sorrow,  love  and  strife, 

In  balance  straight  and  true." 

A  neat  12mo.  volume. 

OPINIONS    OF   THE   PRESS. 

This  is  a  collection  of  miscellaneous  extracts,  which  betoken  a  cultivated  taste  and  extensive 
reading.    They  embrace  choice  paragraphs  from  the  writings  of 

Bishop  Hall,  Dr.  Johnson,  D'Israeli, 

Lord  Bacon,  Southey,  Carlyle, 

Bishop  Taylor,  Coleridge,  Schiller, 

Goethe,  Irving,  Chalmers, 

Jeremy  Taylor,  Macauley,  Charnock, 

Adam  Smith,  Bethune,  Lowell, 

Hannah  More,  Caroline  Fry,  Mrs.  Sigourney, 

Mrs.  Jameson,  Miss  Edgeworth,  Miss  Jewsbury. 

The  extracts  are  alphabetically  arranged,  and  will  be  found  invaluable  as  a  book  of  reference. 
The  volume  is  neatly  bound,  and" its  typographical  execution  does  great  credit  to  the  publishers.— 
The  Sun. 


The  editor  of  these  choice  extracts  gives  the  public  a  proof  of  her  excellent  taste,  evidently 
cultivated  by  the  habit  of  refreshing  her  spirit  from  the  richest  and  purest  fountains.  The  namee 
of  Taylor,  dear  old  Jeremy  Taylor!  Fuller,  Izaak  Walton,  Coleridge,  Goethe,  Korner,  Lowell,  Car- 
lyle, Thomas  a  Kempis,  and  a  host  of  other  glorious  spirits,  men  and  women,  shed  some  of  their 
selectosi  beams  of  light  upon  these  pages.  We  cannot  too  often  or  too  lovingly  commune  with  the 
<reat  and  good— the  ever-living  benefactors  of  their  race,  whose  noble  words  of  rebuke  or  of  lofty 
theer  renew  in  us  continually  our  highest  ideal  of  virtue. — Saturday  Post. 


The  compiler  has  shown  in  her  selections,  superior  skill,  and  a  sense  of  what  is  really  valuable. 
The  extracts  are  lively  and  diversified.  The  whole  forming  an  agreeable  and  profitable  book.— 
New  York  Christian  Observer. 


They  are  literally  thoughts,  and  memorahle  ones.  too.  The  reader  has  but  to  turn  to  the  page 
indicated,  and  find  what  Barrow,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Hooker,  old  Fuller,  Coleridge,  Carlyle,  and  other 
thinkers,  believed  and  felt  on  thines  of  universal  and  absolute  interest.  The  larsre  class  of  readers 
who  like  Tupper's  "  Proverbial  Philosophy,"  and  books  of  the  kind,  will  find  this  book  of  "Trea- 
eured  Thoughts"  a  delightful  and  instructive  companion.— Home  Journal. 


A  genuine  treasury  of  what  deserve  to  be  "treasured  thoughts,"  is  given  in  this  beautiful  volume. 
The  selections  are  from  the  rich  stores  of  the  best  writers  of  pure  English,  from  the  earliest  period, 
up  to  and  including  those  of  the  present  day.  Each  passage  contains  some  valuable  thought  or  bit 
of  Christian  philosophy,  or  some  pointed  anecdote  with  a  fine  moral.  Miss  May  gives  evidence  of 
very  extensive  reading,  and  of  reading,  too,  with  profit.  Her  selections  all  indicate  a  lush  moral 
sense,  as  well  as  n  delicate  and  refined  taste.  Her  bonk  will  be  found  to  perform  the  office  of  a 
library,  without  the  labour  of  searching  for  goed  things  through  whole  ranges  of  shelves. 


Reared  in  the  seclusion  of  a  refined  domestic  life,  pervaded  by  an  atmosphere  of  religion  and 
fine  literary  taste,  we  know  what  of  necessity  must  be  the  character  of  Miss  May's  "  Treasured 
Thoughts,"  and  that  they  were  really  so  to  their  gentle  guardian.  So  it  has  proved  to  be.  No 
volume  of  "Elegant  Extracts."  edited  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  and  *'  for  a  consideration*'— but  e 
collection  of  years,  selected  with  judgment,  and  sincere  admiration  for  the  noble  truths  or  delioate 
seDCammte  which  the  passages  contain.— Saturday  GaxiU- 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

PUBLISH   THE 

BRITISH    FEMALE    POETS: 

WITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  NOTICES, 

BY 

GEO.   W.    BETHUNE. 

AN   ELEGANT  VOLUME,  WITH   A  HANDSOME   VIGNETTE   TITLE, 

AND 

PORTRAIT  OF  THE  HON.  MRS,  NORTON. 

The  Literary  contents  of  this  work  contain  copious  selections  from 

the  writings  of 

Anne  Boleyn,  Countess  of  Arundel,  Queen  Elizabeth,  Dnchess  of 

Newcastle,  Elizabeth  Carter,  Mrs,  Tighe,   Miss  Hannah  More, 

Mrs*  Heinans.  Lady  Flora  Hastings,   Mrs*   Amelia   Opie,   Misa 

Eliza  Cook,  Mrs.  Southey,  Miss  Lowe,  Mrs.  Norton,  Elizabeth 

B.  Barrett,  Catharine  Parr,  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  Countess 

of  Pembroke,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montague,  Mrs*  Gre- 

ville,  Mrs*  Barbauld*  Joanna  Baillie,  JLctitia  Elizabeth 

Landon,  Charlotte   Elizabeth,   Mary  Russell   Mitford, 

Mrs.  Coleridge,  Mary  Howitt,  Prances  Kemble  Butler, 

&c«  &c*  &c» 

The  whole  forming  a  beautiful  specimen  of  the  highly  cultivated  state  of 

the  arts  in  the  United  States,  as  regards  the  paper,  typography, 

and  binding  in  rich  and  various  styles. 

OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 
In  the  department  of  English  poetry,  we  have  Ions:  looked  for  a  spirit  cast  in  nature's  finest,  yel 
most  elevated  mould,  possessed  of  the  most  delicate  and  exquisite  taste,  the  keenest  perception 
cf  the  innate  true  and  beautiful  in  poetry,  as  opposed  to  their  opposites,  who  could  give  to  us  8 
pure  collection  of  the  British  Female  Poets ;  many  of  them  anions  the  choicest  spirits  that  evei 
graced  and  adorned  humanity.  The  object  of  our  search,  in  this  distinct  and  important  mission, 
is  before  us;  and  we  acknowledge  at  once  in  Dr.  Bethune.  the  gifted  poet,  the  eloquent  divine 
and  the  humble  Christian,  one  who  combines,  in  an  eminent  degree,  all  the  characteristics  above 
alluded  to.  It  raises  the  mind  loftier,  and  makes  it  purified  with  the  soul,  to  float  in  an  atmosphere 
of  spiritual  purity,  to  peruse  the  elegant  volume  before  us,  chaste,  rich,  and  beautiful,  without  and 
witlun. — The  Spectator 


We  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any  previous  attempt  to  form  a  poetical  bouquet  exclusively 
from  gardens  planted  by  female  hands,  and  made  fragrant  and  beautiful  bv  woman's  gentle  culture. 
We  know  few  men  equally  qualified  with  tlie  gifted  Editor  of  this  volume  for  the  tasteful  and 
ludicious  selection  and  adjustment  of  the  various  tlowers  that  are  to  delight  with  their  sweetness, 
soothe  with  their  softness,  and  impart  profit  with  their  sentiment.  The  volume  is  enriched  witn 
Biqgrapnicai  Skelcnes  of  some  sixty  poetesses,  each  sketch  being  followed  with  specimens  charac- 
teristic of  her  style  and  powers  of  verse.  In  beauty  of  typography,  and  general  getting  up,  thjj 
volume  is  quite  equal  to  the  best  issues  of  its  tasteful  and  enterprising  publishers.— Episcopal  Recorder. 


It  is  handsomely  embellished,  and  may  be  described  as  a  casket  of  gems.  Dr.  Bethune,  who  ia 
himself  a  poet  of  no  mean  genius,  has  in  this  volume  exhibited  the  most  refined  taste.  The  work 
may  be  regarded  as  a  treasury  of  nearly  all  the  best  pieces  of  British  Female  Poets.— Inquirer. 

This  volume,  which  is  far  more  suited  for  a  holyday  gift  than  many  which  are  prepared  expressly 
for  the  purpose,  contains  extracts  from  ail  the  most  distinguished  English  Female  Poets,  selected 
witn  the  taste  and  judgment  which  we  have  a  ri^ht  to  expect  from  the  eminent  divme  and  highly 
gifted  poet  whose  name  auorns  the  title  page.  It  is  a  rare  collection  of  the  richest  gems.— Bait*- 
•tore  American. 


Dr.  Bethune  has  selected  his  materials  with  exquisite  taste,  culling  the  fairest  and  sweeteat 
ttowers  from  the  extensive  field  cultivated  by  the  British  Female  Poets.  The  brief  Biographical 
Notices  add  much  interest  to  the  volume,  and  vast  ly  increase  Us  value.  It  is  pleasant  to  find  Hard- 
working and  close-thinking  divines  thus  recreating  themselves,  and  contributing  by  their  recrea- 
lions  to  the  refinement  of  the  age.  Dr.  Bethune  has  brought  to  his  task  poetic  enthusiasm,  and  a 
«*ndy  perception  of  the  pure  and  beautiful  — iV.  Y.  Commercial. 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

THE  ROSEMARY, 

A   COLLECTION 


OF 


SACKED    AND    RELIGIOUS   POETRY, 

/mm  tljr  £nglisl;  anil  5lmrririui  ^nits; 

WITH 

EIGHT  SPLENDID  ILLUSTRATIONS  ON  STEEL  BY  SARTAIN. 
Jli  it   of  I- m  belli  shin  ruts. 

MOSES    SMITING    THE    KOCK MURILLO. 

HEBRON BRACEBRIDGB 

DANIEL    IN    THE    LIONS'    DEN ZEIGLER. 

ELIJAH    FED    BY    RAVENS CORBOULD. 

ABRAHAM    OFFERING    IP    ISAAC WESTALL. 

GOD'S    COVENANT    WITH    NOAH ROTHERMEL. 

JOSEPH    SOLD    BY    HIS    BRETHREN ZUCCHI. 

WE    WOMEN    AT    THE    SEPULCHRE P.  VIET. 

(Eitrnrt  frnm  ttjf  ^rrfnrr. 

In  presenting  in  "The  Rosemary"  some  of  the  choice  selections 
of  Sacred  Poetry  in  an  attractive  garb,  it  is  hoped  that  it  will  be 
received  as  an  evidence  of  that  religious  feeling,  which  at  times  haa 
actuated  most  of  the  great  poets,  and  been  displayed  in  some  of  their 
finest  productions. 


(Dprainns  uf  iljr  ffim. 


This  book  is  a  beautiful  pearl,  rich  in  the  treasures  of  thought  and 
imagination,  which  form  its  contents,  as  well  as  in  the  elegance  of  its  cos- 
tume, and  the  delicate  and  finished  engravings  which  embellish  it. — 
Christian  Observer. 

In  this  attractive  volume  we  find  much  to  please  the  eye ;  but  the  mest 
valuable  recommendation  of  the  work  is  found  in  the  lessons  of  piety, 
virtue,  morality,  and  mercy,  which  are  thrown  together  in  this  many-co- 
loured garland  of  poetic  flowers. — Episcopal  Recorder. 

The  volume  before  us  commends  itself  to  every  one  who  with  a  gift 
would  connect  the  highest  sentiment  of  purity — for  it  is  a  casket  of  spiritual 
genis—radiant  with  the  light  of  true  religion. — Christian  Gem. 

This  collection  is  made  with  great  taste,  and  is.  perhaps,  the  finest  evei 
comprised  within  the  limits  of  one  volume.  —  Godey's  Lady's  Book. 


LINDSAY   &,  BLAKISTON'S   PUBLICATIONS 

MACKAY'S  POPULAR  DELUSIONS, 

LINDSAY  &  BLAKISTON  PUBLISH 
MEMOIRS  OF  EXTRAORDINARY  POPULAR  DELUSIONS, 

I)  V 

CHARLES    MACK  AY, 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  "THAMES  AND  ITS  TRIBUTARIES,"  &.C.,  &c. 


"The  object  of  the  author,  in  the  following  pages,  lias  been  to  collect  th« 
Bost  remarkable  instances  of  these  moral  epidemics  which  have  been  excited, 
■ometimes  by  one  cause,  sometimes  by  another,  and  so  show  how  easily  the 
masses  have  been  led  astray,  and  how  imitative  and  gregarious  men  are,  even 
in  their  infatuations  and  crimes." 

CONTENTS, 


The  Witch  Mania. 

The  Slow  Poisoners. 

The  Crusaders. 

Haunted  Houses. 

Philosophical  Delusions. 

Introductory  Remarks. 

The  Alrhymists.or  Searches  for  the  I'hiloao 

pliers  Stone  and  the  Waters  of  Life. 
Fortune-Telling. 
The  Magnet  izers. 
And  various  other  subjects. 


The  Mississippi  Scheme. 

The  South  Sea  Bubble. 

The  Tuliponianla. 

Relics. 

Modern  Prophecies. 

Popular  Admiration  for  Great  Thieves. 

Influence  of  Politics  and  Religion  on  the 

Hair  and  Beard. 
Duels  and  Ordeals. 
Popular  Follies  in  Great  Cities. 
The  O.  P.  Mania. 
The  Thugs,  or  Phansigars. 

Two  more  interesting  volumes  than  these  we  have  rarely  perused.  Through 
'.he  whole  runs  a  vein  of  clear  perception  of  what  is  right  and  true,  which 
enhances  the  value  of  the  book  for  domestic  reading. — Commercial  Advertiser. 

A  more  useful  work  has  not  been  published  for  many  a  day,  or  one  that  is 
as  well  calculated  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  credulous  to  the  arts  of  the  design- 
ing speculator,  or  shield  the  thoughtless  from  the  evils  of  popular  errors. — 
Saturday  Courier.  « 

This  is  a  truly  interesting  and  instructive  work.  The  history  is  that  of  tliA 
frailties  and  follies  of  poor  human  nature,  and  it  may  be  read  with  profit  by 
all  who  are  apt  to  give  way  to  credulity  and  impulse. — PennsyVn  Inquirer. 

Every  delusion  noted  in  the  work  is  a  story,  and  every  story  is  full  of  interest ; 
it  has  all  the  charm  of  fiction,  and  must  continually  excite  the  surprise  of  tho 
reader  that  such  things  could  be  to  excite  "  special  wonder." — Bait.  Patriot. 

The  subject  is  one  of  profound  interest  ;  the  branches  on  which  the  author 
'ouches  are  numerous  and  varied  ;  and  from  these  facts  and  his  established 
ibility,  we  cannot  but  regard  the  work  as  a  valuable  one,  promising  to  reward 
'he  attention  which  it  will  be  sure  to  excite. — N.  American  and  U.  S.  Gazette. 

The  whole  range  of  subjects  has  a  fundamental  character,  for  we  all  take 
pleasure  in  considering  the  infirmities  of  our  fellows  ;  and  this  detailed  and 
connected  history  of  them  appeals  to  one  of  the  most  prevalent  and  powerful 
of  human  sympathies.  The  conception  of  the  work  is  not  inferior  to  the 
execution.  Its  extensive  circulation  will  not  only  entertain  many,  but,  by  the 
engrafting  of  its  author's  plain,  common-sense  views,  it  will  open  the  eyes 
of  many  to  the  delusions  of  the  present  enlightened  age. — Evening  Bulletin. 

The  Memoirs  of  Extraordinary  Popular  Delusions  form  a  wide  field  for  the 
author  His  object  has  been  to  collect  the  most  remarkable  instances  01  those 
moral  epidemics  which  have  been  excited,  and  show  how  easily  the  mao.iet 
ar«  led  astray  in  their  infatuations  and  crimes. — Daily  Sun. 


LINDSAY  &    BLAKISTON 

HAVE  JUST  PUBLISHED 

THE  WOMEN   OF  THE  SCRIPTURES, 

EDITED     BY     THE 

REV.   H.   HASTINGS  WELD; 

WITH 

ORIGINAL  LITERARY  CONTRIBUTIONS, 

BY 

DISTINGUISHED  AMERICAN  WRITERS: 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  BY 

TWELYE  SUPERB   ENGRAVINGS  ON  STEEL, 
BY  J.  SARTAIN,  PHILADELPHIA, 

FROM   ORIGINAL   DESIGNS,   EXPRESSLY   FOR  THE   WORK. 

BY   T.   P.    ROSSITER,   NEW    YORK: 


INCLUDING 

Mi  nam. 

Hannah, 

Esther, 

Eve, 

Ruth, 

The  Syrophenict»i 

Sarah, 

Queen  of  Sheba, 

Martha, 

Rachel, 

Shumunite, 

The  Marys. 

Elegantly  Eound  in  While  Calf,  Turkey  Morocco,  and  Cloth 
Extra,  with  Gilt  Edges. 


PREFACE. 

The  subject  of  this  book  entitles  it  to  a  high  place  among  illustrated 
olumes.  The  execution,  literary  and  artistic,  will,  we  are  confident,  bo 
found  worthy  of  the  theme  ;  since  we  have  received  the  assistance  ot 
authors  best  known  in  the  sacred  literature  of  our  country,  in  presenting, 
in  thoir  various  important  attitudes  and  relations,  the  Women  of  th* 
Scriptures.  The  contents  of  the  volume  were  prepared  expressly  for  it, 
with  the  exception  of  the  pages  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Balfour;  and  forth# 
republication  of  her  articles,  no  one  who  reads  them  will  require  an  apology. 
The  designs  for  the  engravings  are  original;  and  the  Publishers  trust  that 
in  the  present  volume  they  have  made  their  best  acknowledgment  for  me 
favour  with  which  its  predecessors  have  been  received.  The  whole,  they 
oeiieve,  will  be  found  no  inapt  memento  of  those  to  whom  St.  Peter  refert 
the  sex  for  an  ensample  :  "  *he  holy  women,  in  the  old  time." 


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